The Collision Principle
by Madammortis
Summary: Paths cross for most. For others; they converge. And the results of these collisions alter all who are swept up in it, leaving not a one unaffected by the changes that follow. Hancock/Female Sole Survivor story predominately, including a number of other random romances.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Fallout 4 or any of its characters, concepts, locations, etc. Etc. No money is made from the writing of this fanfiction, though I have since acquired quite a fetching case of carpel tunnel.

 **A/N** **:** Hello, my freaky darlings! Just some background info before we get started:

I originally 'published' _Collision Principle_ on AO3, due to the graphic nature of the story and my desire to maintain a sense of realism through not heavily censoring the work. I have since, however, made the decision to publish a very heavily edited version here on ; with much of the violence, language and sexual content removed in a very earnest attempt to respect 's strictly M rated policy.

With that being said, there do remain some mature themes in this story. This Prologue chapter is the most graphic of those which follow (at least for some time) but I have done my best to tone it back where possible. (Believe it or not!) If this still proves too much at times, I'd be happy to shave a bit more meat from its bones. So to speak. Just let me know :)

If anyone wishes to read the unedited version of _Collision Principle_ it can be found on AO3. I'm also MadamMortis over there, so it shouldn't be too difficult to find. If all my editing tricks go to plan, that version should be significantly more graphic than this one, so discretion is naturally advised should you choose to look it up.

My aim is to post an edited chapter of CP here on once a week. It may take a little longer with some of the bigger chapters; especially those that need a lot of editing due to their content but I hope to be consistent with it.

Thanks everyone and I hope you enjoy!

 **Prologue: The Indestructible Nine**

 _"_ _He who commits injustice is ever made more wretched than he who suffers it."_ _**– Plato.**_

 _ **Goodneighbor - 2278 – December 24th...**_

The night had been cold, he remembered. Almost bitterly so, though it had taken him some time to be made aware of it. His adrenaline had been too high; his skin flush with anticipation. The air smelt crisp, like it always did just after the rain. The only sound; crickets chirruping with their merry ignorance from beyond the Eastern wall, interspersed with the drunken cackling of the even more oblivious men down below.

Water had splashed about his boots when he had landed. His ankles jarred a little and his socks had a damp ring around them from where moisture had seeped inside. The laughing had stopped abruptly. Many more pairs of feet struck a bitter staccato against the slick pavement around him. Perhaps a moments' hesitation... the splitting of a second. And then... remorseless penance.

He fired first, drew first blood, served first example. The shots came quickly after that; fast and concise – _boom, boom, boom_. The smell of smoke intermingled with the tangy damp of the night air. His ears rang and his head swum with static. "We fucking blitzed 'em, Hancock!" Someone yelled, their voice barely audible above the ensuing screams and spattering of bullets cutting violently through the night. He called back something supportive... at least, he was certain it had been supportive. And the killing continued.

To his right, one thug's head caved easily under Adrian Buchalter's blow; cracking beneath the merciless meeting of pavement and stone. Hancock though Adrian might have lost his guts at this; the physically imposing brute of a man possessing a rather contradictory manner of sensitivity. And he did indeed hesitate, upper back jerking as though he were trying to hold back the contents of his stomach. The goon was still alive, his arms jerking spasmodically and legs kicking in a desperate bid to rise.

Adrian had never killed anyone before, which was likely why he had pulled his full strength at the last minute. If he had applied every ounce of hulking muscle behind the blow, the man who was twitching helplessly like a Radroach on the ground beneath him, would have been dead instantaneously. Adrian clenched the blooded hunk of concrete in his hand; half of what had once been an architectural sleeper and made a clear concerted effort in his considerations towards finishing the job. He wavered such as a toy boat in the rippling tides of a child's pond; finding this moral blockade much more difficult to hurdle than the groups impassioned conversations in the Waste's had suggested it to be.

John Hancock; though his experiences with death were only marginally transgressive, had applied himself to the task with utter conviction. Vic and his boys were pitiless after all and if he and the other drifters ever hoped to see Goodneighbor into a better, more equitable future, they needed to be just as ruthless as their foes.

"Finish him off, brother! Don't let 'em see you hesitate!" Hancock called, turning at the last moment to chance one of Vic's more resilient men charging in on him; struggling to free his pistol from its' battered, leather holster. Most of the mob had been so ploughed that the work had all been but done by the time Hancock and the other rebels had dropped from the rooftops but this guy looked a hell of a lot sober than the rest.

He dropped the very same way in spite of his constitution; bending in the middle like a ridiculous doll loose from its strings. Neck, arms and legs jerking forward as Hancock fired the twin barrels close range into the big old hero's stomach. Over the sound of his ears ringing, Hancock dimly registered a splintering, sickly sounding crack, followed shortly by another. Adrian joined him at his side not a moment later, hands dripping with a meaty ichor, which looked almost black in the darkness of the main street. That bastard Vic had never bothered to have any of the lights repaired; one of his many failings as mayor.

Hancock looked over and met the Ghouls' eyes. Adrian's broad shoulders were heaving, his thick jaw heavy set and massive fist clenched resolutely around the hunk of dripping concrete. No more a fitting end for the man who had once used the butt of his rifle to smash in the face of a fellow drifter who had dared to stand up to him.

From the look on Adrian's face, Hancock knew that this was what had compelled him to finish the miserable bastard off and he gave him a small nod of approval.

"Dry your eyes," he instructed and Adrian jerked his chin back in response, using his shirt sleeve to wipe away the wetness that had pooled in the curve of his eye sockets. "They see you gettin' soft, they'll make a target of you. Don't give 'em a reason. Remember," He added, tapping the back of his fist against the big Ghoul's barrel shaped chest. "This ain't just for all of us. It's for Thomas too."

This had obviously been the right thing to say, because Adrian raised his head with a look of steely determination; tossing the blooded lump of concrete into the air before catching it again. The memory of the friend who could not be there with them weighed heavy on all their minds. Every drop of blood spilled in this righteous massacre was rent from flesh in his name. Every soul rendered from body was hurled into the depths of hell in his honor. Even someone as innocent as Adrian could be compelled to act in a way he might never had done when the memory of a friend's violent death sat at the forefront of his mind.

There was a choking sound from nearby. The man Hancock had shot was still just barely clinging on. Not an easy thing to accomplish after taking a point-blank shot from a side by side, though Hancock felt he might have been mostly to blame for this, if not directly. Whilst training out in the Wasteland, he had developed a little technique which he thought might serve well as a scare tactic when squaring off against Vic's goons. Though not practical, it looked suitably badass, so long as it was executed correctly. This was, in effect, firing the double off one handed; right hand for the right barrel, left hand for the left barrel. Being ambidextrous helped, as Hancock was confident using either hand for a range of tasks but of course the recoil proved a bit of a hassle. He had worked for months to strengthen up the correct muscles in his arms, core and legs respectively, so that each could absorb the massive recoil from the gun without doing an insane amount of damage.

He had learned very quickly that pulling off more than one shot was enough, especially in a combat situation. It was just blatant showing off and now his shoulders were going to pay for it, if he hadn't already dislocated them. Not to mention that a shotgun blast converged upon itself, so the direction of the pellet spray would disperse the further away your target was. Vic's goon had been about ten yards and if Hancock had aimed at him two handed as he was supposed to have done, the guy most likely would have been dead right away and not splayed upon the ground; rent with suffering.

Hancock's gaff had not come through hesitation however; only scare tactics. He had only needed to fire one handed twice and the look in the other men's faces had said it all. A mark to his name that all future enemies would whisper about; just as surely as Adrian would be remembered as the hulking brute who took down guys with guns by smashing their heads in with a brick.

Hancock drew a sharp breath, slinging the strap of the shotgun around his shoulders as he approached the fallen thug. He felt a great deal calmer than he had fifteen minutes ago; (Jesus, is that all it took? _Fifteen minutes_?) though his heart still hammered in his chest, questioning whether it could have been that easy. He slid the thick ten-inch knife out of his belt, wondering even as he clutched the hilt determinedly whether he would have the balls to use it.

Turns out, he did.

Geoff... that had been his name. Kind of unremarkable, like his own first name really. But Geoff had been one of the very worst of all Vic's boys, namely for the kind of perversions and indulgences his voracious, apparently unquenchable appetite drove him to. Hancock had seen him come staggering drunkenly into their street shelter on more than one occasion, yank up a girl from her bedroll and drag her into the nearby alley to fuck against a wall. If he and Adrian had been able to hear him coming in time, they would pull the girls into their own beds, literally laying on top of them in order to keep them out of harms way. Geoff wasn't exactly choosey when he was thwarted though; sometimes he would grab a child and this would cause everyone to react, revealing the girls from their hiding places and sending them to the metaphorical slaughterhouse instead.

Once, in one of his more Chem induced episodes, he had even grabbed Hancock. Back in the days when he had been a damn sight prettier than he was now. Hancock hadn't exactly relished the thought of becoming one of Vic's boys little 'backdoor bitches' and had put up one hell of a fight, aided and abetted by Adrian, Thomas and one of the girls whom they had previously protected. The four of them had succeeded in preserving Hancock's virtue in this instance but they had paid for it dearly later, when Geoff and a few of the boys came back in the light of day. They had had the shit beaten out of them, stripped of their clothes and tied then to poles in the main street, where they had remained, unprotected and suffering through one of the coldest, most inhospitable nights of the year.

Of course, Geoff and some of the others came back around to mess with them during the night, only to find that they had been encircled by six of their fellow drifters, who had untied them, clothed them and were in the process of binding their wounds. Of course, the threat of being shot was a major deterrent to unarmed, malnourished civilians and they had been forced to step aside. All but one. That had been Thomas. He had refused to let the three of them be further brutalized and not three days later, he had lost his life because of it.

Geoff had accrued a number of victims in his time but none so hateful as that young girl he had abused alongside Adrian and Hancock. She appeared now, booted feet splashing in the puddled mixtures of water and blood as she made her way to Hancock's side, reaching down to seize his wrist, halting his rampage. Her hazel eyes looked almost as though they were sparkling with delight as she used her spare hand to pluck the blooded knife from his grasp.

"You hogging all the fun for yourself, Hancock?" She purred, her dark red hair almost indistinguishable from the blood covering her upper torso. Hancock smiled, shifting up onto his knee and slipping slightly in the wet muck on the street. Jesus, they'd left a hell of a mess to clean up.

"Looks like you've been having enough fun for the two of us, Mel." He quipped back, finally finding his feet and taking a step back, allowing the girl to move in closer. There were some fights that rightfully belonged to other people and this was one of those times. "I mighta... softened him up for you. Just a little bit."

She gave her short, barking laugh at this. How different she was from that self-doubting, insecure girl from a few months back; who had accustomed herself to being used as a human toilet and plaything to the unfeeling attentions of the repulsive men of the town.

"Oh, I think it's safe to see we all want a piece of Geoff for ourselves," She murmured, placing one hand on her hip as she bent at the waist, placing her rose dappled face very close to Geoff's. She smiled, though there was nothing friendly in the gesture and said as she played the tip of the knife over the dying mans' nose. "Hello Geoff. It's Melanie. Do you remember me? I sure as shit remember you. I remember those eyes staring at me in all the dark places I crawled into, trying to hide where you couldn't find me." Her own eyes narrowed with spite at the memory and she poised the tip of the knife blade to the centre of the mans' forehead, her lip curling with contempt. "Those eyes... I hate those _fucking eyes_!"

It took less than a minute to exact that which ultimately satisfied her and left many of the surrounding rebels looking rather sick and uncertain for the meagre act in witnessing it. As Geoff lay curled in a fetal position on the ground, palm creating a halo about his now empty eye socket; Melanie flipped the knife over and held it out to Adrian with a purely beatific smile.

"You want a piece of this asshole before I scrap him for parts, Addy?"

The Ghoul shook his head, though there was no hint of mercy in his refusal to partake. Sweet though the man was, his gaze was unforgiving as he stared down at Geoff, the scars of his condition rendering his expression ever the more severe. Adrian had been in Goodneighbor longer than just about anyone and during that time, he had watched helpless as Vic's boys victimized, robbed and raped whomever they wanted. That was a long time to build up a shit ton of resentment, to say the least.

"Much as I'd like to give this ol' shit heel a good curb stompin', I'm thinkin' we got us other fish to fry," he said, looking pointedly to Hancock and then jerking his head off to the side, towards the Old Statehouse. Hancock got the hint and leaning down, gave Melanie a parting squeeze on the shoulder.

"As the man said, got some business to take care of. Try not to have too much fun here, sister," he said, giving her what he hoped was a supportive smile, tempered with mild caution. The girl seemed to be in control of her faculties but she was still barely past her teens and had already experienced some of the very worst of humanity that was on offer. Now, she was liberally dismembering her previous tormentors with perverse glee and though she couldn't be blamed for taking pleasure in the act, Hancock could only hope she would not become the same as the monsters they were persecuting. They had to be better than that if they hoped for a better future.

Melanie's expression shifted slightly, just enough to assure Hancock that she had gotten his message. She must not have been happy about it but like the others, she followed the unspoken chain of command. It was Hancock after all who had guided them to this much-desired eventuation and the respect he had earned during the time he had trained them in the Wasteland was not so delicate as to be compromised or questioned.

"Can't promise it'll be too quick," She said, showing just the slightest hint of defiance as she turned back to her sobbing, writhing victim. She tossed the knife lazily from hand to hand. "Bastard gave it to me up the ass one night. Didn't stop even though I was bleeding and screaming. Fucker laughed at me. He laughed at me, John!"

Hancock narrowed his eyes, wondering if it was possible to hate a person more than he hated this... creature already. That sort of hatred felt sharp, like it was searing a hole through his guts. Geoff had nearly done the same to him; would have done, if Adrian and Melanie hadn't been there to help fight him off. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing worse than taking someone's liberty. Whatever form that kidnapping came in.

Pain twinged in his lower back; a constant reminder of the mark that had been lain to his own flesh and soul. Residue burnt eternally through the layers of hastily corroding skin. A scream rose up in his mind, almost drowning out the sound of the night around him. His own voice, begging and pleading for mercy... calling out for a father long since wrought from this world, whilst fingernails scratched trenches through the grime that lay thick upon the floor. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered the restriction once tight against his neck... and the pain... the _pain_... All the places he had felt the pain... that pain that had burrowed as deeply within his body as his now dreadfully sober mind...

He pulled back his leg and kicked Geoff in the side, hard, rolling the dying guard onto his buckshot riddled gut. The man was coughing up blood, pleading for mercy. Hancock turned the sound to static in his own ears, refusing to let it form any semblance of words that might evoke an emotional response. He reached down, clamping his hand over the back of Geoff's skull, pushing his face into the wet pavement and hissed so that he could hear;

"Give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him know what it feels like to bleed and _scream_."

He released his hold on Geoff's head, taking some satisfaction at how the pleading came the thicker and faster. Hancock wasn't squeamish in the least but he took mercy for Adrian's sake and led him and some of the others away to their next task. Some of the other more vindictive fellows stayed to watch and judging from the screaming that followed, Melanie had made good on settling the score. Fitting justice for a man whose entire life seemed to revolve around sticking his dick into whoever seemed to want it the least.

Where Vic was to be found through this entire bloodbath was no small secret. The spineless bastard had holed himself up in the Statehouse; his glorified little castle from where he could look down on all the struggling wretches below. Hancock imagined he fancied himself quite the feudal lord from this vantage point. Living it up like a great, fat cat, spooning cream into its egotistical, undeserving little mouth and then sending out his goon squad to squeeze whatever he could from the people he was supposed to be caring for. It wasn't much different from what that lardball McDonough was doing over in Diamond City and Hancock was getting just the slightest bit sick of all these assholes sitting pretty in their ivory towers, brutalizing everyone at their own discretion. Maybe McDonough was out of his reach but Vic sure as hell wasn't. Not anymore. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the mother fucker; the trunk of the rotten tree that had wended its sickly roots through Goodneighbor and was slowly sucking it dry from within.

Vic didn't plan on making it easy for them, however. Bastard never did; without his goons on point, he had the backbone density of a Wasteland omelet. He had locked all the doors into the Statehouse and had most likely retreated as far into the building as possible, like a Radroach scurrying from a far more oppressive predator.

Despite the Statehouse being more than six hundred years old, the renovations of only two hundred years prior had been good and solid. Both doors refused to give, despite a few determined members of the Nine working on each with the assistance of some pluckier members of the community. Hancock made his way over to Ryan; a tough bastard that he had nonetheless charged with the protection of the collective sum of Goodneighbor's innocent, unknowing citizens. He was chatting with the owner of the junk store; Daisy. Hancock had always gotten along well with the old girl; she was a sweet natured woman, with a teasing, cheery natured that defied her age. At two hundred years old, (give or take a decade) she was one of the few pre-war Ghouls living in the town and had always been a strong advocate for overthrowing Vic and his cruel regime.

Her lined face broke into a smile at the sight of Hancock and he sighed with relief, glad to see that she was okay. He made his way over, leaning around Ryan to plant a kiss to her cheek, which she returned.

"Oh John, you silly, brave boy. I still can't believe you've gone and done it." She said, running one hand down over his cheek. He took her fingers in his own and squeezed them reassuringly, wishing that he wasn't so bloodied up whilst speaking to her. Daisy had this way of making you feel like you should always be well presented and respectful; not because she asked for it but because you truly felt she deserved it. He did his best to wipe his face with the sleeve of his jacket, which Daisy took as a sign to pass over a handkerchief she must have had spare. Hancock used it to mop his face as best he could. He was especially careful around his nose, which was a little tender, though that wasn't on account of any injuries sustained in the fight, of course.

"It ain't done yet, sister. Still gotta get in there and break the big mans' neck," He said, glancing up at the State House balcony, curling his lip with irritation. "I'm just glad you're okay, Daisy. Would've had to kick my own ass if you or any of the others got caught up in this shit. Speaking of which?" He looked to Ryan for clarification, who gave that familiar one-sided smirk which creased up into his tanned cheek. A good sign.

"Went off like a charm, honey. All Nine are still kicking. KLEO pitched in and took a bullet to the side for her efforts but she bounced back like no one's business." He gestured with his head to the street side of the Statehouse. "She's round there now, workin' with some of the others to try and bring the door down."

"That's our girl," Hancock said with a smirk, pocketing the bloodied handkerchief after Daisy had indicated that he keep it. He used the opportunity to break open the shotgun and reload the empty chamber in the breach, wondering if his hands might ever be steady again. He needed to keep cool and calm, less the others see him falter and lose confidence. Regardless, he still couldn't seem to shake that one tiny little tremor that ran pervasively under his skin. "Any of those doors look more likely to give?"

Ryan shrugged. "Two to one odds, I'd say the one KLEO's workin' on. Girls got a head of steam up." They all had a laugh at this, which must have been the first laugh any of them had had in... some time, actually.

"Great. Well, let's head around there and get Adrian into it," Hancock said, clamping the shotgun closed and slinging the leather strap back over his shoulder. He gave Daisy another kiss on the cheek. "Put the kettle on for us, mama. Back in a bit."

"Idiot boy," She said, giving him a small smile as he and Adrian turned and jogged off around the corner. Sure enough, there was KLEO along with Jack, Pattie and Rob, working in tandem to repeatedly kick, shoulder and shove the street side door to the Statehouse.

"Hey kids, you thought about blowing the lock out yet?" Hancock asked as he reached them, hoping it didn't sound too patronizing but feeling that it was the more obvious of solutions. He flashed a quick smile in KLEO's direction. "Hey beautiful. How you holdin' up? Ryan said you copped one in the side?"

The Assaultron turned her dark face and focused the piercing red orb on her forehead in Hancock's direction. Despite being on their side in this circumstance, Hancock always preserved doubt as to whether the robotic weapons dealer could be entirely trusted; she had a strange manner of predicting and planning for all eventuation's. She had told him, quite blatantly during one of their negotiations for weapons, that she would quite happily kill him if the need ever arose to do so. Being a particularly vigilant person himself, Hancock countered that he would never be so important as to require the effort and attention necessary for her to take his life. KLEO had just sort of 'hmmmed' at this and said "We'll see." Perhaps those robotic projections were worth paying closer attention to, considering just what was happening here and now.

"Well, I thank you for your concern, John... or, is it Hancock you are now referring to yourself as? My my, it is hard for a lady to keep track these days." The Assaultron verily purred, pausing in her high-powered efforts to rent the wooden doorway from its frame. Hancock had to wonder just what the good folks at Rob-Co had been thinking when they gave such a damn sultry sounding voice to a robot. It was a wonder that soldiers in the opposing army had been able to stand up straight with one of these babies running at them, proclaiming in a sexually fueled tone that they were 'Going to destroy you.' "I do admit that I rather like the outfit. How does the old saying go? "The clothes maketh the man?"'

Hancock gave her a little smile, raising his hand to tip the foremost peak of the tricorner hat that now adorned his head. "What can I say, KLEO? Something about it just spoke to me. More importantly though, how we going with that door fella's? Surprised you big brutes haven't knocked it in yet."

Pattie gave a grunt of annoyance as he bounced back off of the door for the umpteenth time. "Woulda shot the lock off boss but we didn't want to mess the place up too much... gotta clean this shit up later, you know?"

Hancock chuckled a little at this, though he silently agreed, thinking that the least amount of damage they inflicted the better. This was already traumatic enough for the citizens with the amount of blood and guts splattered about the place; cleaning up that shit would take forever, never mind patching up repairs on a building that someone was surely going to make use of.

The question still presented itself however; how the hell were they supposed to get themselves inside? If push came to shove, Hancock had no reservations about taking the door off of the hinges (it would only take a few twists of a screwdriver after all) but Vic was a consummate coward with a veritable ton of firepower to aim at either doorway, depending on which caved. He definitely wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and Hancock gathered that the instant someone came through either one of those doors, he would unload Holy Hell on their ass. There was no back exit to the Statehouse; they had checked all this shit out before instigating the coup.

Hancock paused for a moment, glancing off to the side as a truly dark thought wormed into his mind from some unrepressed corner of his subconsciousness. He wondered if their present conundrum in fact marked a golden opportunity to really throw the scare into Vic; to make him well and truly fearful for his life before they ripped it out of him. And he knew just the way to do it.

Adrian was making a full-bodied effort at the door and it looked as though he might have gotten through on his own merits; if it hadn't been for the furniture that had been piled up behind it. Reaching through the gap that he had made, Adrian grunted in annoyance as his dabbing hand slapped uselessly at what was most likely the glass lid of the display cabinet.

"Gosh darnitt, he's only gone and barricaded himself in, the spineless chump! Ugh - I can probably still get through though if I push really hard..." He demonstrated by leaning his shoulder against the door and with the support of the others, strained with all his might. Hancock could hear the creaking of the cabinet as it started to move across the floor but he already knew what was going to happen, based on the measurements he had taken previously in the Statehouse and the accurate prediction he had made as to Vic's actions. The furniture hit up against the side of the spiral stairwell and refused to go any further.

"Figured that would happen," Hancock muttered to himself, as the other three men looked completely despondent with their efforts. "If I coulda gotten in there and made rid of the fucking thing I would of... ah well, Plan B it is. Adrian, you're with me, brother."

"And uh... what's Plan B exactly, boss?" Adrian queried, scurrying to keep up with the much shorter man, despite his having the advantage of a considerably longer stride. When Hancock got going, it was easy to forget that he was not exactly a towering colossus such as his personality might have otherwise indicated.

"We're going to get up there in that room with Vic. Right after we scare the ever-loving crap outta him," Hancock said, hoping his smile wasn't too vindictive as he said it. They were all running on an adrenaline high at the moment and though it felt damn good to get their vengeance at last, it wouldn't do to get too carried away.

Still, this was just one little hubris he felt he would grant himself; a personal 'fuck you' to the man who had made the lives of so many a miserable hell, in a world where just drawing breath was hard enough.

He marched back over to where he had left Melanie. Geoff had since departed the mortal coil, though Hancock doubted it had been for very long.

"You done with that?" Hancock asked, reaching out to help Melanie to her feet. She was struggling a little, trembling but looking ultimately satisfied.

"What... _that?"_ She said, still reeling from what had just happened and perhaps wondering what further use Hancock could have derived from a mutilated corpse. "Yeah but... what exactly are you gonna..."

"Thanks darlin'," He replied, giving her a pet on the side of her neck before making his way over to Meyer Scalice, the one of the Nine who had taken it upon himself to enforce a melee weapon in his attacks; a fire axe. This brutality would have him perpetually dubbed as the 'Fireman' for the rest of his days in Goodneighbor and it was a title he was only too keen to take on. (He was next to useless in the event of an actual fire, ironically but he could swing that axe like a sonofabitch).

On this day, he had done more than his fair share of vacillating and hacking and was now enjoying a justly earned cigarette whilst debriefing with some of the locals. Despite his sordid history of antisocialist acts and brooding misanthropy, Meyer had in fact a surprisingly affable nature which was most often observed when speaking to children and beautiful women. (Meaghan Rodriguez being of particular consideration). He had placed the bloodied axe out of sight of the married couple to whom he was currently speaking, sharing his pack of cigarettes with them and patting their shoulders with his usual _'Ah, forged- about- it'_ routine. Hancock groaned softly to himself as he came in range of the cigarette smoke, dying for a hit himself (of more than just a cigarette mind you) but steadfast in his conviction to not touch anything until the final deed was dealt.

"Hey Meyer, you finished with the axe, brother?" He asked, making good and certain to pat the other man on the back in a comradely gesture. Everyone needed support to get through this and he was a little worried that they were all starting to wind down simply because Vic's henchman had been dealt with. Vic may have been a slovenly old cretin but he was still dangerous; as were all cornered animals.

Meyer turned and gave a lazy little wave, clearly content in his exchange. He was one of the few Ghouls whose eyes had not changed along with the rest of his body and this surprisingly made others feel less comfortable with him than they seemed to be with other Ghouls. They were blue of a very pale type; so bright as to cast an intense contrast with the tanned skin of his face. Hancock could imagine them being just as unsettling when he'd been a Smoothskin, for they had a clear, sharp look about them that brought to mind the jagged rigids of winter frost.

"Yeah boss, she's all yours. Hey, try to keep it clean huh?" He joked, laughing ironically as Hancock hefted the axe up from around the side of the shanty where it had been leaning. The once carefully honed and sharpened blade was now thick with congealed blood and assorted cranial matter, so much so that not even a shine of the original silver could be discerned from amongst the mess.

"Oh, I'll have it back in like new condition," Hancock said, smiling and then touching his fingers to the brim of his hat towards the young couple. This was becoming quite the set gesture, he realized and hoped to God that it didn't look pretentious.

Adrian and Melanie looked to Hancock curiously as he made his way back with the filthy axe over his shoulder and used his foot to roll Geoff over. They looked all the more astonished when, with no warning whatsoever, he drew the axe behind him and then heaved it over his ruined shoulders with as much strength as the surely torn muscle could muster. The blade hit off centre of Geoff's neck, sinking deep into his upper chest with a horrible wet cracking noise; all too much like it would have made if striking a tree.

Adrian drew in a sharp breath to the accompaniment of a rather peculiar sounding yelp; it reminded Hancock of an old bike horn he had found once whilst exploring the ruins with his father. Melanie remained silent, though her eyes widened somewhat and her brow quirked up. Not disapproving so much as curious.

"Um... Hancock, much as I love seeing this dirty old bastard being hacked into pieces... is there any particular point to this? Only that times a wasting and all..."

Hancock sighed, using all the strength he could martial to yank the axe back out of the dead henchman's chest. "You'll see in a second if I can just get the-" His second blow struck gold and he retrieved the blade, with some mild maneuvering and hefted it once more. "-angle right!"

The final blow delivered that which he had intended; separating the head from the remaining grip of the neck. Hancock recalled how books and radio dramas spoke such lines as ' _the head separated cleanly from his_ _shoulders_ '. He can't imagine who might have ever fooled themselves into believing such a thing, for the act had been anything but 'neat' and 'clean'.

Adrian's lips had wrinkled to form a long agitated worm; his black eyes unreadable as always but the lines in his face clearly reflecting his feelings on the subject matter. "Oh man... you are _nasty_ , boss." He enunciated, putting his hands on his hips and taking a few deep breaths. He did his utmost to salvage a joke from the situation, saying shortly after, "If you needed head that badly, I'm sure we could have both shut our eyes and pretended while I got my knees dirty."

Of all things that had transpired that night, it was this comment that turned Melanie's stomach and she elbowed the towering Ghoul in the abdomen so hard that he almost keeled in half. "Oh gross, really? You had to put those sorts of images in _my_ head?"

"Hey, don't ask, don't tell." Adrian remarked, clenching his stomach tightly where she had struck him. Hancock responded with a slight smile as he reached down, winding his fingers through Geoff's hair and lifting the blood encrusted head from the pavement.

"He's never looked better." Melanie noted, though her eyes didn't show a great deal of humor as her remark might have entailed. Someone being dead didn't exactly change what they got away with doing to you in life after all. A good drink at the end of the night might help that but in the meantime...

"You got a grenade left?" Hancock asked, knowing full well that she did. They had decided just before dropping from the rooftops not to use any grenades, as it would possibly endanger innocent, uninvolved civilians.

"Sure," Melanie replied, reaching down and unhooking one of the small, indented orbs from her belt. She passed it to Hancock, who took it with the hand that wasn't currently holding the severed head. "What's the go? You gonna take down the door with that or what?"

Hancock proffered up a mysterious smirk as he made his way towards the entry to the Third Rail, situated directly below the balcony of the Statehouse. The door up there had been left open, he had earlier observed, because Vic had most likely been too arrogant or too stupid to think that anyone could have made their way up there. It would have been difficult for certain but where there was a bunch of angry, messed up drifters to contend with, there was a way.

"Nah, sister. We're gonna give our friend Vic a nice little Christmas present. Being the season of giving and all." Hancock whistled between his teeth, gesturing towards Adrian. The big Ghoul lumbered over, ready for whatever instruction came next. "Need your help, my man. Want ya to hoist me in the air, like I'm a pretty little cheerleader. Reckon you can do that?"

Adrian mulled on this for a moment and then his lips curled up into a roguish smile, cottoning on to what Hancock had planned. "Hey, you got it, boss. Can't make ya pretty mind but I could throw your tiny ass around like you a dame, no sweat."

"Yeah, yeah, just try and resist from grabbing it while you're whipping me around," Hancock quipped, steading his hand on the other mans' shoulder as he moved in close. Adrian went to grab him around the middle but a stout shove sent him reeling back with a confused look. "I said _throw_ me in the air, not grind up on me! We're not on a date, for fucks sake! Just grab me under the foot, hoist me and then catch me when I come down."

"You'll be lucky if I _do_ catch you after that smart remark," Adrian grumbled, though they had known one another long enough to banter as they did without either taking true offense. He knelt on one knee, as though proposing and braced both large hands with fingers intertwined, creating a platform for Hancock to sink his boot into.

Hancock got himself into position, sliding his foot down against Adrian's still bloodied palms and paused there. He jammed the grenade into the mouth of the severed head, pushing it past the teeth with some difficulty (some had to be knocked out to achieve this) and then (as he fought back nausea) lowered his face to Geoff's and used his own teeth to rip out the protruding ring that poked from between the dead mans' lips.

"Now!" He yelled and without further ado, Adrian launched him ceremoniously upwards, as though he were indeed a cheerleader, celebrating the victory of his assigned football team in the days before the Great War. Performing more in the manner of a pitcher than a cheerleader however, Hancock forcefully willed his aching muscles to comply, knowing he had the bare tiniest opportunity to make this work and hurled the severed head as hard as he could through the open balcony door. It sailed through, though only barely, bouncing once, twice before coming to a rest somewhere inside. Before Hancock came plunging back to earth, he saw a shadowy figure highlighted against the far south windows. They must have gotten a good look at the improvised projectile, as it had bounced in right in front of them.

" _Merry Christmas, mother fucker!"_ Hancock yelled, before then whistling downward (almost gracefully) through the air. Adrian was strong enough to have lifted him high enough to reach the edge of the balcony and in spite of his damaged muscles, Hancock knew he would need to act quickly. A thunderous _BOOOOM_ echoed from the room above and wood chips and dust exploded out through the doorway and Hancock smacked Adrian smartly in the chest as he collapsed into his arms, not wanting to waste a second now that he had the idea.

"Throw me up again. I'm gonna climb through the door." He said, raising his voice to be heard over the resounding echo of the explosion. To his credit, Adrian didn't hesitate but as usual, he trusted. He adjusted Hancock so that he was bracing his foot again and then hurled him upward with as much strength as he could surely muster, grunting and almost leaving the ground himself in the effort.

Of course, he could not fling him directly atop the balcony but only so that his hands were flush with it. Hancock snagged his fingers about the rim of the balcony floor, feeling the jagged concrete sinking into the crevices of his fingers as he hung on for dear life. He could hear the voices of the Goodneighbor citizens all echoing as one below him, urging him on, begging him not to fall and hurt himself. It made him feel all the more determined. And it would not be too long before Vic realized that the grenade was merely a flamboyant distraction so that he would not hurry over and stamp the fingers of anyone attempting to climb the balcony.

Hancock could feel his muscles straining and he was more than convinced now that one in his shoulder was torn, for the pain was almost unbearable. It was stupid to have been showing off like that, when preserving his body was the most important thing to ensure that they would emerge victorious from this. Lamenting about what had been done would do no good now though, so he instead focused every ounce of strength on pulling himself up onto the railing. Out in the Wasteland, he had encouraged all the Drifters to do chin ups every day, to develop their upper body strength should they find themselves in a situation like this. Now he was relieved, more than ever, that he had come down hard on this particular exercise. If it had not been for the development of his lats, he would never have been able to pull himself up with such limited leverage.

The railings were constructed of wood and difficult to find purchase on. Hancock was forced to slip his fingers around them as best he could and then clench his core muscles and pull upward with every inch focused on his biceps and deltoids. They strained and burned, especially as they were required to perform the entirety of the work until Hancock was able to bring his hips into alignment with the floor level of the balcony. Sweat was pooling down his face and his adrenaline levels were spiking out of control, sending his heart into a maddening, desperate rhythm as he jabbed his right leg urgently at the stone floor, trying to find enough surface to brace it upon so that he could securely lift with his entire body. He trusted that Adrian would catch him if he fell but he surely could not afford to fail when so many people were depending on him! They had to keep trusting, they needed to _see_ him succeed! And yet... more than that... he _needed_ to succeed. For once in his miserable, wishy washy life he would not fall flat.

After what seemed like a dreadful eternity, Hancock's foot hit the wall and he was able to ground it securely enough to apply some extra pressure through his body. He pushed hard against the wall, using the muscles now in his thighs, back and arms to swing himself upward, almost like a pendulum. It hurt like hell, given the damage he had already done but he bit it down, knowing that Vic was close now. Using one hand at a time he pulled himself further up the railing, alternating his balance with pushes from his core and little hops of his body until long last, he was able to bring his torso up over the railing and clutch it tightly as though it were the last and only life raft of the Titanic.

He could hear the crowd below cheering in support but he didn't allow himself to be carried away with the small success of this (admittedly fucking exhausting) endeavor. ' _I can die later'_ , he reassured himself, swinging his body over the railing and collapsing gracelessly onto his ass. He shuffled quickly to the side, anticipating that Vic might have recovered enough from his little 'Christmas gift' to pull a swift response and sure enough, three shots were fired in quick succession in his direction. Hancock used the right-hand wall to shield himself, waiting until he heard the Mayors gun click on empty before he made his move, climbing to his feet and sauntering around the door as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Sure, he was in pain. Sure, he was exhausted, sad and homicidally impatient for a cigarette. But he didn't let a nuance of this show, permitting Vic to see only that which would make his last few moments in this world as miserable and terrifying as possible.

Hancock let him see the anger, the pure uncensored hatred, which would have rent his face unsightly if the radiation Chem had not already done that. Vic had not seen him since before that time and there was no way now that he was able to fathom or indeed recognize who was standing before him.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was only in the process of transitioning into a Ghoul that made him look all the more horrifying and Hancock was happy to use this to his advantage. Vic stared at him in shock; perhaps taking in those dark blue eyes that were speckled with spots of black like a Robins egg. Perhaps revolted by the insidious tears that were running through his cheeks, some still red and sore from the fresh splitting of the wounds. Maybe even drawing a conclusion upon seeing the strands of curly blond hair which had escaped from under the signature tricorn hat; the same hat that he must have seen many a time since passing by it at the lower levels of the Statehouse.

Hancock smirked, thinking that the putrescent bastard looked even uglier than he himself now did. If only for the fact that his very girth was suggestive of the pampered lifestyle in which he indulged at the expense of others. He was big and slovenly, and though Hancock was not the type to judge a person on their appearance, it was difficult not to despise this man for his size, given that the rest of Goodneighbor was starving on fresh air and dying hopes. His narrow eyes were surmounted by thin brows, his chin quivering above the loose knot of his tie. Even the pinstriped suit he wore was a living affront; the only business this man was interested in was sucking the life out of others and living on the bare dregs he had exsanguinated.

He didn't look so composed now; sitting on the floor like a dropped bag of overripe Tato's, legs spread and mouth gaping uselessly. His once clean and proud suit was speckled with blood and hair and every other little piece of god knows what else that had exploded out of Geoff's head when the grenade had gone off. A jagged, smoking hole in the floor, rimmed with splintery wooden teeth and tatters of flesh was all that remained of this little 'gift'. It was clear that the only reason Vic had survived the explosion, was because of the sofa that had rested between himself and the balcony doors. Hancock was no expert in the area of fabric detailing (that was a question for the aforementioned town haberdasher, Meaghan) but he doubted there was a professional in the Commonwealth with skills enough to restore that sofa to its former standard; it looked as though an autopsy had been performed on top of it by a very angry and substandard medical practitioner.

Hancock smiled, sweeping his hat majestically from his near balding head and offering a sanctimonious bow to the current reigning mayor of Goodneighbor. "Hey there, Viccy-boy. Just thought I'd drop in for a little chat. Been a while since we've seen each other." He swept his hat back onto his head with a twirl of his hand, kneeling so that he was eye to eye with the other man. "Guess I look a bit different from the last time you saw me though."

He could see that it was running through Vic's head; that he was still trying to make sense of it all. His lips flapped pointlessly for a moment before finally, that little spark of acknowledgement flared to life in his eyes.

"Jesus fucking Christ... it's _you_. You of all people!" He laughed then and this was infuriating to Hancock because it was a laugh of relief; as though he had just swanned in and revealed the entire thing to be some elaborate April Fool's joke. "Johnny-boy! Well… look at you in those old duds... playing dress up with the big boys." He continued to laugh in that mocking, demeaning manner as he climbed slowly to his feet, wiping a hand at his knee as though there were some point to cleaning himself off. "Jesus... you... what the _fuck_ have you gone and done to your face, pretty boy? Hope you didn't do that shit just to throw a scare into me because I hate to tell ya-" He looked Hancock up and done and snorted derisively, pressing the hand that held the pistol over the second of his innumerable chins. "Ya wasted your fucking time. Ya look... fuckin' ridiculous, Shortstop."

What would have been his next chuckle was transformed violently into a ferocious exhaust of air as Hancock, face rendered grotesque in his rage, lurched forward, slamming his boot into Vic's chest. He felt a rib snap beneath his assault but this wasn't enough compensation for the pure unfiltered anger the mayor had set to curdling in his veins. His brain was swarmed with a sickening buzzing sound and he could have snapped his teeth for how hard he was grinding them together. What would it take for this asshole to take him seriously? What would it take for _anyone_ to ever take him seriously, to ever be afraid of what he could do to them? Hancock wasn't sure what the formula for people's fear was but he was sure as shit prepared to take a stab at it and see what came out the other side.

Vic's back hit the floor with a thunderous smash and he was left no time to recover before Hancock's foot stamped down onto his face, crushing his cheek and jaw into the wooden boards beneath him. He used his other foot to kick the empty pistol off to the side, where it cluttered aimlessly against the far wall. He had to stand on Vic's face momentarily as he did this, which caused the depraved mayor to shriek as Hancock's entire weight balanced on the rise of his cheek bone.

"Lucky for you I'm short, otherwise that might have hurt a hell of a lot more." The soon to be Ghoul hissed, leaning his entire body weight down into the leg which kept Vic pinned. "You know, I hate that fucking name. Shortstop, Shortstop, Shortstop. All this shit just to keep people down, keep 'em in their place. All of that ends now, _Vic_."

He reached down, grabbing Vic by the collar and yanking him up onto his knees, bringing his foot back now to strike the man square in the ass as he pushed him out in front of him. "Get your ass down those stairs. NOW!"

Vic burbled incomprehensively, clutching one hand to his cheek, which now bore a dirtied and bloodied print of Hancock's boot. He struggled to remain standing as Hancock liberally hurled him towards the spiral staircase, clearly intending to send him hurtling down them to the ground floor.

"Wait, wait!" He pleaded, crying out as Hancock knocked his fedora from his head and grabbed a handful of his hair, using this now to compel him forward. "I get that you're pissed off... but if you want a better deal for yourself, I can make that happen! I mean, that's what this is all about, right? Being in charge?"

They stood by the railing to the spiral stairwell now, poised distinctly on the edge of so many things. Hancock released his hold on Vic's hair, pushing him so that both his shoulders smacked into the wooden railing. Vic gasped slightly, angling his weight forward in an attempt at not losing his balance. Given the choice however, he would have much preferred to tip over backwards than move any closer to where Hancock was standing, glaring at him with what could only be described as an expression of utter revulsion.

"The fact that you could even _think_ that we could _ever_ want the same things makes me sick to my fucking stomach," He hissed, voice lowering to that dangerous, animal like susurration that seemed to come directly from some dark place within his chest. "You can't buy your way out of what you've done to us." He leaned in, face so close to Vic's that the mayor could plainly see the bloodied line running through the base of his nose. He imagined he could even smell the rot of the cartilage as it deteriorated second by the second. "The guy whose head we just threw in here, with a grenade in its mouth? That was Geoff. You know what you let that guy and all the rest of your goons do? 'Cause I remember. I remember being tied naked to a pole in the center square, feeling every little jolt as a few of them took their turns with Mel." He felt all the more disgusted to see that the fearful expression on Vic's face had nothing to do with this information. The only feeling this asshole had was for himself. "We could feel it... every time one of your bastard rats hurt her. Adrian and I... we begged 'em... we begged 'em and we cried and promised 'em every cap in our pockets if they'd just leave her alone. We were so scared. We were fucking ashamed." He reached over, pinching his hand around Vic's mouth, squeezing as hard as he could, digging his nails in so that the first layer of flesh was penetrated. "You didn't give a shit. Because the folks you're supposed to protect are expendable to you. There's nothing you can offer except dying like the dog you are."

Hancock relished the look of utter fear on Vic's face as he pushed forward with all his might, tipping the fat tub of lard backwards and over the railing. Half of it snapped and went with him but this small repair job was worth every future second of sweat popping labor; all for hearing the shriek and resounding crash as Vic tumbled backwards into the stairwell and rolled spectacularly down to the ground floor. Hancock smirked slightly to himself, thinking the big oaf looked like a gore colored bowling ball as he tumbled over and over. He vaulted the railing and followed him down, adding an extra kick of encouragement when he got caught in the curve of one of the corners.

Vic cried out as he hit the ground floor, rolling onto his stomach and clutching his chest, undoubtedly where his rib was snapped through. Hancock used this distraction to make his way over to the street side door, grasping the edge of the display case and pushing it off to the side. The door caved immediately, slamming open and crashing against the corner of the case. Pattie, Jack and Rob exploded through the gap, falling over each other in their efforts to get inside. They got a bit of a shock to see Hancock staring back at them, who gave a little wave of the hand as though greeting house guests over for afternoon tea.

"Glad you could make it, boys. Having us quite the party in here." He said, using his boot to shove the display case as far off to the side as possible before returning to where Vic lay curled on the floor. The mayor saw him coming and tried to struggle up, earning a hard kick directly in the groin for his efforts. A thin white fluid came burbling up out of his mouth, dripping onto his chin as he collapsed in on himself like a pill bug. Hancock showed not the least pity as he grabbed the floundering man by the collar, pulling him along behind him like a much begrudged bag of luggage. He tugged him down the concrete stairs and tossed him unceremoniously onto the pavement below, where a number of members of the community were gathered around, having seen the boys bust on in through the door.

"Apologize to them," Hancock said, his voice like cold steel as he stood in the doorway of the Old Statehouse, cast in shadow by the light which struck his silhouette from inside.

Vic managed to lift his head to look back over his shoulder, eyes bulging hysterically in his puce colored face. "What? What are you talking about?!"

"TELL THEM YOU'RE SORRY!" Hancock roared, for the very first time that night relinquishing control of his temper. It must have been the right time to do so because everyone looked the more emboldened by it. They tightened their circle around Vic, gaining some much deserved courage from Hancock's outburst. "Tell them you're sorry, for every rotten, no good, evil thing you've done to them. For everything you let happen to them!"

Vic struggled with what to say to this, swiping his hand at his chin to try and tidy himself up to some meagre degree. His eyes narrowed in, recognizing the anger and how to deal with this. It seemed to render him the more defiant, as opposed to cow towing him into submission and he glared at Hancock with the reproach of a dog that was prepared to circle around and bite when least expected.

"Kiss my ass, boy. You ain't getting nothin' outta me." He spat a mouthful of vomitus fluid to the ground by the stairs, as close as he could get to where Hancock stood.

A deafening crack echoed along the crowded streetway and Vic at long last lost his cheek and started to scream, staring in horror at the bloodied, mangled remains of his left foot; protruding from beneath the sleeper that Adrian had smashed down over his ankle. There had been no holding back this time, Hancock knew. The look on his companions face was compounded fury, fashioned beyond moral limitations. Both massive hands were clutched around the concrete slab, so it had to have come thundering down at full force.

"Don't you fucking spit at him," Adrian snarled, his voice shaking with a cold, yet succinct anger. He raised the sleeper; holding it up above Vic's body as though fully intending to bring it down once more. "He's gone done more for us than you ever did, ya dirty prick! He's worth _five_ a' ya!"

Vic continued to scream for some time, pausing only to draw further breath to beseech Gods he no doubt didn't believe in to help him. His screams only worsened when he saw Melanie now approach him from around Adrian's towering frame, a smiling visage of pure sensual happiness in comparison to her companions radiating fury. She balanced the tip of a knife against her finger; thickly encrusted with blood and who knows what else as she raised her foot and brought it mercilessly down on Vic's shattered limb. She smiled more widely and with deeper satisfaction as she wrought further screams from him, twisting her foot from side to side as though squashing a bug.

"Come on, Vic. Surely you didn't think you could just go on hurting people without making them want to hurt you back?" She purred, cocking her head in a fake sympathetic gesture. "It's sickening, isn't it? Feeling this helpless... suffering with no one to help you? Well... now you know a little about what you put the rest of us through."

She dropped down onto the ground, mounting Vic's body, one leg to either side of him. His eyes were focused on the knife, gasping for breath, face trembling as Melanie trailed the blade over the palm of her hand before then holding it out in front of his eyes.

"Can you guess blood shit is all over this knife, Vic?" She whispered, eyes half lidded, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. She looked almost angelic in her pleasure, if not for the dark act she was perpetuating. "Belongs to your boy: Geoff. He didn't like pain very much either." She tapped the blade against Vic's lips, leaving a stain in the white froth still encircling his mouth. "No one does. None of _us_ did. _None of us did_!"

She leaned back, slapping the side of Vic's face with the knife, cutting a shallow semi-circle in his flesh. The surrounding drifters broke their silence now and joined together in a roiling, hungry tide of support; screaming out a myriad of suggestions for how Vic should best be tortured. One girl who had also been victimized by the Mayors goon squad, yelled out for Melanie to castrate him. Rob went one further, saying they should cut off his limbs one at a time. The suggestions only worsened from that point onward.

"Don't... please, don't do it!" Vic begged, his eyes sweeping the ravenous crowd for a sympathetic face and spying not a one; for not a single person had been spared the torment that he had inflicted upon them. Not one family left untouched, not one girl left with the preservation of her innocence, not one man spared the crushing of his dignity at some juncture.

So, he turned then, to the only person he knew now could corral the virulent desires of the vastly swelling mob. Tears streamed down his face, mixing in with the blood coursing from his wound as he sought out Hancock, who had not moved from the doorway, arms crossed and silently observing.

"Shortstop, _please!"_ He screamed, reaching out one shaking hand from the pavement, imploring the young man whom he had not so long ago mocked tenaciously. "Please tell them to stop! Make her put the knife away and I'll give you anything you want! Please!"

Hancock, his lips pressed together tightly, stood as still and unswaying as a mountain rising from a tumultuous ocean. Calm though he appeared on the outside, his chest swirled with contrary feelings about how the situation was transpiring before him. He was after all not immune to the contagion of violence that was sweeping through the populace; as potent as a fast-moving plague and just as destructive. ' _What's happening to us?'_ He wondered, tilting his head only slightly so as to look at the group gathered around Vic, trying to pinpoint what it was exactly that didn't sit quite right. ' _They look like a bunch of mongrel dogs gathered around a wounded Brahmin',_ he thought to himself and it clicked suddenly then just what was so wrong with this situation.

 _We've been so damn used to being the prey for so long that we have no idea as to what to do with power_ , he realized and felt a little sick for how easily they had all succumbed to this despicable pack mentality. There was no honor in this; nothing to be proven by attacking one man on masse, other than to validate the manner in which this piece of shit had lived his entire life.

Hancock turned his eyes back to Vic, narrowed them and called, "If I were you, I'd get to apologizing quick smart before Mel turns up the heat on your ass."

"Fine, fine! I apologize! You hear me, I fucking apologize!"

Hancock looked to Melanie and made a slight, almost imperceptible gesture with his head. She complied immediately by pinning Vic's hand down by the wrist and moving the knife to his pinkie finger. Vic tried to throw her off and would have succeeded if Adrian had not stepped in and applied his foot to the Mayors upper arm. Vic squealed like a dying animal as Melanie dug the knife into the plump flesh of his finger. It didn't look like it was going to happen quickly, so Hancock started talking again, figuring it was enough of a message for Vic to rethink his response.

"Look what you've gone and done now, Vic." He drawled, with a tone that conveyed genuine sadness for the other mans' plight. "Melanie's gotten all worked up because you couldn't even do the decent thing and apologize properly."

When Vic could speak again, he called out in a voice thick with tears, "I don't... I don't understand! I told you I'm sorry, what more do you want me to do, you mother fucker?!"

He screamed again, as Adrian pressed his foot down harder and harder against his arm. Hancock sighed, tilting his head with brows furrowed sympathetically.

"Now, that isn't very nice, Vic. What your Mom and I get up to in our spare time is kind of private you know." He chuckled to himself and offered a little wink. "Tell ya what though; you both squeal the same way when someone's given' it to ya."

Vic screamed out in frustrated rage as much as pain, slapping at Adrian's toned leg with his free hand and then digging at it, flailing in a fitful dance that represented a pain too great for any significant endurance. Hancock watched for only a moment longer, before then whistling from the corner of his mouth. He wondered how long he might be able to do this, considering how the Ghoulification was caving in his lips; causing them to feel stiffer and less pliable by the day.

Adrian got the hint from one look at his comrades' face and reached down, taking a gentle hold of Melanie by the shoulder, halting her in her infuriated efforts. She looked at him furiously and then turned to Hancock, her brows dropping dramatically, eyes gravid with that deep sadness she had spent so many months trying to conceal.

"Please..." She whispered, an entreaty that held so much more sway over Hancock than any of the putrescent squeals of the man pinned beneath her. "You know how much they did to me... you _know_. Please..."

Hancock went to her, lowering his arms and lifting her from the mutilated mans' tumescent form, pulling her to her feet. She started to cry then, falling against him, fists banging on the backs of his shoulders as he half held and half carried her over to where the other members of the Nine stood.

"I know, baby... shhhh," He did his best to soothe her, knowing that what had been done to her could never be remedied by what he had almost permitted her to do but wishing he had let her take her revenge anyway. If anyone deserved to be tortured, it was Vic. The rub of it of course was that Vic would eventually die and then Melanie would be forced to go on, living with the eternal mental damage that could not be avoided from such depraved acts of violence against another human being. Hancock had set out to keep as many of the drifters' safe from harm and that was a responsibility that he fully intended to keep; including harm they might have inadvertently caused to themselves.

"You don't... understand..." Melanie was sobbing as he hauled her over to where the other Nine were waiting. He made sure they had a firm hold of her shoulders, for she would surely break free and return to exact more against Vic if she had the opportunity. "You don't know what it was like... so many days, so many nights... I never felt clean, Hancock! They didn't give me time between showers, just kept me filling up with their disgusting..." She broke down with an angry scream, pulling her arms back and forth in a desperate attempt to free herself from the others hold. "I had to keep going to the doctor... had to keep getting rid of them. Over and over and over and over again! For so many fucking years until every bit inside of me was broken! He let them do it to me, Hancock! He deserves to die! I wanna kill him! I wanna make him feel just a tiny bit of what he put me through, please!"

Hancock turned and cupped his hands around her face, pulling her back up roughly in this hold and giving her a firm shake to shock her back to being calm. "I know you do and he fucking deserves it ten times over and more besides that. But you know what? We ain't gonna be like him, you got it?" He pointed over his shoulder at Vic's curled, quivering form. "And you know why? Because we're _better_ than him. We're not gonna let how we feel about him justify our behaving like monsters too. The minute we start smiling when we cause pain, that's the minute we've gone too far."

He held her for a moment longer, making good and certain that she was as calm as she was likely to be before returning to Vic's side. He unhooked the shotgun from around his chest and held it loosely in his left hand, tapping the barrel to the palm of his right.

"Now let's try this one more time Vic and do try and be sensible about it, please," He said, watching the Mayor snivel like a school child on the losing end of a yard fight. "If you're gonna apologize for the shit you've done, you gotta be more specific. Try apologizing first to the young lady who was just trying to take your finger off."

Vic looked over at Melanie, his expression suggesting that he would much prefer to drink water from the public outhouse than apologize to her but the look she gave him back seemed to convince him that it was indeed in his best interests.

"I'm… I'm sorry!" He whimpered, clutching his injured arm to his chest, trying to move but unable to on account of his leg. "I'm sorry for everything that happened to you... I'm sorry for everything I let happen to you."

"And what exactly did you let happen to her?" Hancock whispered dangerously, bracing the barrel of the gun and sliding his finger against the trigger. Vic's eyes widened and he blubbered almost incomprehensively as Hancock raised the gun to eye level.

"NO! No please! I'm sorry I let my men abuse her, I'm sorry I let them… fuck her!" He seemed then to cotton on to what Hancock was requesting and with a desperate glance around the crowd, he started rounding off. "I'm sorry I let all of you be used like that! I'm sorry I took your food, your money! I'm sorry I kept you out in the streets in the cold! I'm sorry for the beatings, for everything!"

"What about Thomas?" Hancock snarled, the black spots in his eyes seeming to expand and contract with the anger resonating in his veins. Vic looked dumbfounded for a moment, his own eyes darting back and forth as though looking for an explanation in any of the stone pavers of the Statehouse wall.

"Thomas... I don't... I don't know who this Thomas i-"

With one hand grasping the barrel of the shotgun, Hancock lurched forward, swinging the stock so hard against Vic's jaw he heard the bone crunch on impact. He was screaming again now but Hancock was beyond caring, slamming one foot down on the mayors' chest, pressing the twin barrels of the gun against his sweat streaked forehead.

"Of course, you don't!" He yelled, forcing his voice higher so as to be heard over the other mans' screams. "All these people who needed your help, who you should have made the time to get to know and you can't even remember any of our names, not even to- Oh would you quit blubbering already?!" He struck Vic in the forehead with the barrel of the gun, as a means to provide some incentive. "I'll tell you who Thomas was, you piece of shit. He was the only one in this town with the balls to stand up to you and your fucking goon squad and you know what they did to him? Beat him until his ribs caved in and his neck was broken. Left him there to die on the street right in front of the rest of us. Right about where we're standing, matter a fact."

Hancock leaned in closer now, making good and certain that Vic met his eyes so as to see the conviction there.

"Thomas was our friend." He said and for the very first time that night, a quaver of tender emotion entered his voice. "And if we can't have him back, then we'll take your neck in payment." He straightened up and called over to the assembled Nine. "You got that rope, Meyer?"

The plan had not changed from the moment of its conception, of course. Though things had gotten a little out of hand, the plan had always been to execute Vic by hanging him from the Statehouse balcony, like the criminals in the days of old. Snapping his neck at the same time would take on some ironic pleasure, given Thomas's cruel death and hey, if his neck didn't break, plenty of people would be happy to hang from his feet.

Meyer, looking a little disappointed that the tormenting of Vic hadn't lasted longer, nonetheless tossed over the rope he had looped around his shoulder without hesitation. Hancock caught it one handed and unwound the length, holding out the somewhat sloppily tied noose they had made in it earlier that night. Each of the Nine had cut their hands and clutched the noose to their palms, leaving their blood wended through the fibers that would soon be yanked taut about Vic's neck. They had left one space clear; where Thomas's hand might otherwise have been.

Vic sobbed, struggling to move away as Hancock grabbed his scruff and yanked the noose around his neck, tightening the loops so that the coil pulled snug against his gullet. Vic yanked futilely, leaving streaks of blood against his throat from his nearly severed finger.

"No... please!" He croaked, face already turning red from the exertion to his jugular. "I apologized, just like you asked!"

Hancock yanked the end of the rope, bringing the blubbering man up onto his rump so that they were nose to nose. He couldn't think who the uglier sight was really; Vic a bloodied dribbling mess, face congealed with vomit and snot, or himself; skin puckered and rotting, lips curling, eyes black and resonate with loathing.

"I never said that meant you got to live, ya miserable bastard." He hissed, reaching down to grab the coil around Vic's gorge, tugging it tighter still until red veins started to bulge in the Mayors straining, milky eyes. "And it's Hancock now, shit heel."

Vic shrieked as Hancock wrenched the rope with all his might, pulling the hysterical man face first onto the ground. Pattie and Ryan immediately surged forward to assist, grasping the trailing length of the rope as Adrian swept Vic's legs off of the ground. Working together, the four men consecutively dragged and lugged their struggling victim back inside of the Statehouse, not a one of them concerned with gentle handling. Vic's head and upper back banged the stairwell a number of times, though any pain he might have felt from these minor collisions had faded in the overpowering tide of fear that had undoubtedly flooded his mind and body. He screamed for mercy the entire irritating struggle back up the stairs, kicking and bucking like a cat caught in a bag. For every defiant twist of his body, Adrian responded in turn by rotating Vic's broken foot to the side, causing the splintered bones to crunch together with a sound not unlike that of dried twigs snapping. The pain did little to deter the Mayor from his repeated attempts to escape and by the time they had reached the second story, he was reduced to little more than weeping, listless pleas; exhausted and as limply compliant as an old sock.

Hancock took the main length of rope from Ryan and Pattie and made his way over to the balcony door, ensuring that it was securely propped open with two chairs that had been perched against the wall. He didn't want to risk Vic grabbing hold of the door jam when they got him out here. He could see the crowd stirring below, responding to his appearance on the balcony but he didn't acknowledge them at this time; intensely focused on what still needed to be done.

Working silently, he tied the rope around the stone railing as securely as he was able. His father had taught him how to tie a few knots when he'd been a lad and he could remember a few that he was certain would be secure enough to hold a grown mans' weight. A big fat prick like this though? He could only hope the fibers wouldn't fray and give out underneath his blubbery ass or he'd crush the folks down below.

Hancock gave the ties a few hard tugs, convinced that it was secure enough to do the trick. He turned back to his fellow drifters, who held Vic suspended above the ground as though he were a child playing make believe Vertibird with his father and gestured with a nod of his head.

"Get his big ass over here and let's finish this, brothers."

Vic's eyes bulged and he renewed his struggles against his tireless captors; screaming 'NO! NO!' as he wrenched his shoulders from side to side. He had little hope of overpowering such a vengeance bound throng, however. These men, for one night had the adrenal glands of Olympian Gods. Their mind and bodies hardened and made all the stronger for their constant exposure and saturation to the choking toxins of the corrupted town and its ghastly overseers.

The mayor realized then, only far too late, that he himself had been the true instrument of his own demise; for the will of the oppressed cannot be broken, only made all the more durable with each new scar you lay upon it. And these men... their will now was indestructible.

They dragged him to the railing, pushing his back against it. Hancock lifted Vic's legs so that he lay as stiff as a plank upon the wooden balustrade. At some point in his transition up the stairwell, Vic had lost control of his bladder; the front of his pinstriped trousers were dark and he reeked of urine. None of them felt the need to mention it or in fact use it as a means of humiliating the man further. Instead, Hancock clutched the band of rope about Vic's neck, keeping him from tipping backwards to his death. He leaned close.

"You took everything from us, you fucking parasite. You made us afraid to go to sleep at night and even more afraid to wake up in the morning. Every liberty we had, you took." He gave a smile that was all the more crooked for the half of his lip that was drooping and pushed Vic back further, until the man's body poised diagonally on the lip of the railing, his head pointed towards the concrete below. "Well... now, we're going to take your last little liberty in this world Vic; your right to your miserable fucking life."

"No, please!" Vic screamed, both hands clutching at Hancock's as though this contact itself might inspire mercy on the Ghoul's part. "Please, I don't want to die!"

Hancock's eyes narrowed. "You had more than enough time to figure that out, you bastard. Go to Hell." And what was lost in poetry was certainly achieved in motion, as Hancock released his grip on Vic's neck and kicked the Mayors dangling legs from around the railing in one fell swoop. Vic's eyes held the same expression, unchanging as he dropped, tears still clinging to his lashes which were snapped violently away as the rope pulled taught about his neck, cracking his legs down and around beneath him like a pendulum swinging in the bowels of an irate Grandfather clock.

The snapping of his neck had not been as loud nor as dramatic as Hancock predicted. Surprisingly, it reminded him more of the sound a pair of scissor blades made when coming together, only greatly enhanced. He could not remember if Thomas's neck had made the same sound when the goon squad attacked him but he supposed that he had been so terrified at the time, it was a wonder he could remember anything of that night at all.

Now however, he felt an irrevocable sense of calm sweep through him, watching Vic's body swing almost leisurely back and forth above the blurred faces of the crowd below.

It was finished...

Hancock wasn't so young or naïve as to presume that what came next would be easy but it had to have been better than what came before. Few could debate that. If he could have any small say in the matter, he would do his utmost to ensure that whoever stepped up to the plate next was worthy of the mantel. No more exploitation of those that were weaker, no maltreatment of women, children or men. No more freezing out in the cold and scrimping and scraping just for some asshole to come and snatch whatever small thing you had right out of your hands.

Hancock sighed deeply, trying to keep a steady breath but it quavered a little. He swung his gun down from around his chest and checked it over, snapping the chamber open to examine the cartridges even though he knew that it was loaded already. He just... needed to do _something_ for a minute. Make certain that no one saw that his hands were still trembling. What these folks needed now, more than ever, was some reassurance, some conviction. Not some spoon-fed Diamond City boy shaking like a leaf in his costumed boots.

When he finally looked up, he realized that everyone down below was staring at him. Their eyes held an anticipatory hope; as though he were Father Christmas himself, having just tumbled from his sleigh in the sky to alight upon their rooftops with toys and Chems aplenty. Turning to Adrian, Ryan and Pattie only confirmed what he had been somewhat dreading; their eyes entreated him to take that next step and guide them forward. They had made no plan beyond Vic's execution and now the man himself was swinging like some lurid ornament below them, they were without direction as to how to proceed.

Hancock supposed it made sense; after all, he was the one who had pulled, poked and prodded them through their training in the Ruins for all those months leading up to this day. They hadn't spoken about who might take over the role of mayor after Vic was dead (Hancock just kind of assumed that most of the big players in the town would sit down and work that out amongst themselves) but from the way everyone was looking at him, it was plainly obvious that they assumed he had acted out of a desire to claim the tarnished crown for himself.

Maybe it was the fact that he was wearing Hancock's duds which made him stand out but he certainly hadn't donned them with the express purpose of gathering votes. Just thinking about acting in the role of a politician, no matter how menial, reminded him too much of Diamond City and all the bad memories there. He'd come to Goodneighbor to get away from all that shit and now these poor folks probably thought that he was just another tyrant who wanted to rule the roost and take advantage of them.

"Listen..." He said, voice far too soft to really be heard from where he was standing. The acoustics of that vantage point worked well however and since everyone was quiet, he really didn't have to speak loudly at all. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I can see you all lookin' at me and I... look, I didn't do this cause I wanna be in charge... you know? I'm happy so long as that asshole's down there swingin' like a Salami." A wave of laughter went through the crowd at this, which surprised Hancock, given the morbidity of the situation. He felt a surge of warmth, buoyed by the feeling of acceptance he received from the gathered masses. "You guys... you're the ones who gotta pick who you want runnin' this joint."

"It should be you, Hancock." A voice piped up from behind him and Hancock turned to see Adrian looking a little surprised at his own nerve. Seeing that he had gone so far already though, the Ghoul decided to continue and added, "All us guys, we'll follow you all the way. You know that."

"Yeah," Pattie agreed, looking just as firm in his support as Adrian did. The young spotty faced boy, usually too shy to speak, had never looked more the convinced of anything in his life. "We'll help you whip this town into shape. 'Sides, you got the right idea about what the people want anyhow's."

Hancock felt a strange little lump rise in his throat; a feeling of being both touched and terrified in the same moment. "You guys have lost your senses. I wouldn't even know where to begin… I ain't no fucking leader."

"Hey, you know that guy, Plato, boss?" Adrian asked, cocking his head to the side in a rather smarmy manner. He was always proud whenever he could make use of one of the old books he had in his collection. "He said somethin' that makes a lotta sense ta me... 'Them folks who want power... shouldn't get it'. Makes me think that if a fella don't want any power, he's gotta be right for havin' it."

Ryan raised a brow skeptically, looking at Adrian from the corner of his eye. "That's an exact quote is it, brother?"

"Word for fuckin' word." Adrian said nodding seriously. "What it means, I think, is that someone as moral as you, boss, you can make the good stuff happen. You listen to people, so you'll know what makes them happy. I mean," He moved closer to Ryan and Pattie so they were shoulder to shoulder, clad in their matching suits which made them look slightly gangster and yet touchingly like a family united in common cause. "Ya pulled a bunch of ratbags like us outta the gutter and look where we are now. We took on some of the biggest meanest sons of guns in the Commonwealth and not a single one of us is pushin' up them daisies. Ya even got us nice matchin' threads to wear and all!"

Pattie joined in the nodding now, looking all the more convinced by Adrian's sentimental yet heartfelt concession. "You know, he ain't wrong, boss. Never woulda gotten this far if you ain't led us here by the stirrups."

"Yeah, them pigeons down there know it too," Ryan added, gesturing with his gun towards the balcony as though any further clarification was required in identifying who 'they' were. "Won't say too much about dressing us all in matching outfits... I mean, what are we, ya fucking Grandkids?"

Hancock laughed at this, looking down so that they couldn't see just how touched he was by their support. If he had it in him to shed any more tears he might have done so but he was done with crying for a good long while now and wasn't sure if he would be revisiting the practice anytime soon. After all, if a guy was supposed to lead a town full of damaged, troubled, messed up people, you didn't have the luxury of going to water and putting them off now did you?

When he was certain he was composed, he looked out over the gathering below, searching out that one distinct, discriminating face which might cast doubt over the seed of confidence sprouting inside of him. He found Daisy amidst the throng and she was smiling like a proud mother, wiping tears of relief from her face. So many of them seemed to be doing that; how sad it was for people to be so happy to see someone killed. But how brutal Vic had to have been to have driven an entire populace to such despair that now, only minutes after his death, they stood staring up at some gormless drift in from Diamond City, beseeching him to take the wheel and steer them towards... anything. For anything had to have been better than what they had been forced to live by for all these years.

Hancock picked Melanie's face out of the crowd; saw her relaxed and smoking and for the first time in a long time without a single line or wrinkle in her face. There was no fear anymore; for there was no one living in this town who would ever be able to lay a hand on her again. Meyer gave a little salute in support, his axe resting over one shoulder and none other than Meaghan Rodriguez smiling receptively from the awning of the other.

Those that did not look altogether pleased about this little development, were of course the expected detractors. Marowski, from the Hotel Rexford being one. He had made a nice, supple living from the indulgent lifestyles of Vic and his goons and didn't look the least appreciative for having a bunch of dirty drifters roil on in and killed everyone with a thick lining of cap in their pockets.

Marowski wasn't stupid enough to take sides when the killing started however; as usual, he remained on the sidelines to see who might survive the skirmish, so as to offer his allegiances appropriately. This was most definitely not the result that he had banked (or hoped) on and his was the only real face in the crowd that expressed so much as a hint of dissatisfaction. Everyone else looked fit to burst; ready to party like it was an Indian wedding (another little titbit of random information Adrian found in one of his books).

Hancock glanced up towards the sky and let go of his breath, seeing for the first time that night the fog to which his exhalation transformed. Would have been nice for there to have been snow... blood would have been easier to have cleaned up when it melted and flowed down the drain.

He wondered a lot of things in that moment; would he be doing this for the right reasons? Would his Pop approve if he had still been alive to see it? Would his mother care, more than she would care that he had taken a drug that was slowly destroying his once handsome features? Would he make a difference? _Could_ he make these people's lives bearable, livable, peaceful and free? Was he in any position to try and guide an entire town and make decisions on its behalf when his own life was so fraught with indecisiveness, irresponsibility and doubt? When the hell was he going to be able to put all this crap to bed and have a goddamn smoke?

 _But then_ , he thought, blinking what remained of his eyelashes against the stinging probes of the night air. _I have a good heart. And maybe at the end of the day, that's all these people need. At least for a little while._

He smiled to himself, musing on life's little ironies and where they took you without your ever even knowing your direction had changed. To think that someone like Vic, a man who had founded this town and fashioned it to his own desires, could be so blind as to what it was that his people needed, so as to neglect them and inadvertently nurse a budding hatred that would ultimately culminate in his own assassination. And how he, a runaway scamp from Diamond City, could be so much closer to the hearts of these people. Such that they were now gathered before him, willing to give their loyalty and support because they trusted that he would give them what they needed in turn.

Hancock felt something shift inside of him; something so profoundly deep and powerful, he knew it would change him as a man forever. For a decision is first and foremost made in the rock-hard foundations of your constitution and once engraved there, it is impossible to erase from the core of your being. He felt at once both stronger and heavier, for the responsibility before him was gargantuan and it cast an impressive shadow over his mind. This town needed a resilient support structure and more than that; it needed someone who understood it.

And suddenly, the words had formed inside of him, though he could hardly fathom from where they might have come. A crazy little part of himself wondered if he might have been channeling the long dead spirit of John Hancock himself because he honestly could not believe that such powerful words could be formed in his mind without some manner of divine influence. Whatever the root of their conception however, he somehow knew that these words held power and that in speaking them, the hearts of the weary and the wounded would be reassured.

And so, having made the decision without having made it, John Hancock turned on his heel and stepped back inside the Statehouse. From the top of the credenza, there was a flag folded up inside of a glass tricorn case. He smashed it open, ripped the flag free and brought it outside to where the citizens of Goodneighbor could plainly see it. With a lavish flick of his wrist, he whipped the flag out to its full impressive length and then allowed it to slowly drift and settle over the Statehouse's stone railing. It covered the knotted base of the rope that held the still swaying body of Vic but no one paid attention to such things; it was plain that the flag represented their liberty from his oppression and once he had been taken down and disposed of, the flag and its message would be what remained of this long night.

Hancock waited until the fabric had settled into place and gave it a few tugs so that it sat just right before leaning both arms on it, looking out over the faces below and wondering just how many more times down the track he would find himself saying these words:

"Of the people, for the people!"

They were the words that heralded the coming of a new age and at long last, the once beaten masses of Goodneighbor were loud and they were joyous. Knowing that someone would take the responsibility of watching over them, gave just cause to relax and to fully celebrate their long awaited and much deserved freedom.

One hell of a Christmas Eve, Hancock thought, tilting back his head to take in the overcast sky, finally allowing himself to feel the cold as it wrapped itself around his withering cheeks. He stood straight and tall in the eyes of the wounded citizens below, reassuring in his unswayable and irreproachable strength. The terrible crushing pressure in their hearts and minds seemed to lift as one, hopeful in the promise of this righteous and grounded man. They celebrated long into the night; the joyous sounds of their liberation audible for miles around.

Later that night, Hancock took himself to where no one could see him.

He vomited.

He wept with a relief that was physically crippling.

He prayed for the strength of his convictions.

And waited for his hands to stop trembling.

 ** _-EC -_**

 **A/N** : A fair post-warning, as I'm sure you can already appreciate, there are some very mature themes in this story, which may provoke some strong feelings, reactions and triggers. As mentioned at the very beginning, if you are affected by any of these themes, please speak with someone you trust and do not hesitate to seek professional support if required. I myself work in the area of mental health and while I do not advocate my services as a professional in this domain, I am always willing and happy to speak with anyone about this story and any feelings, good or bad that it might evoke. You can reach me at my email anytime.

Okay, now that that stuff is out of the way, a few little notes about the above chapter that I'm sure some you are already probably railing about!

 **1.) The Date** : McDonough threw the Ghouls out of Diamond City in 2282, after which (Spoiler alert!) his brother John McDonough (aka Hancock) cut ties with him and stormed off to Goodneighbor to live the charmed life of being regularly robbed, molested and basically shat on every single day. Now, when first meeting Hancock, he tells the Lone Survivor that he came to the town approximately 10 years ago. The Lone Survivor awakes in the year 2287 (Someone correct me if I'm wrong), which would mean that only five years have passed? Uncertain if I'm just being incredibly stupid and missing something... could be that Hancock just takes way too many chems and doesn't know how to count anymore but hey. So, I took some creative liberty and made the date of the Coup against Vic 2278. Once again, I could just have made some really idiotic misinterpretation... feel free to point it out to me (gently, now!) and I can amend it. However, that is the reason why the date does not line up with the Fallout 4 timeline.

2.) **Hancock's height:** In the original version of this fanfic, I had Hancock clock in at five foot ten and three-quarter inches. (Yes, it's very exact!) I have since had a very strong change of heart regards this and plan to amend his height in both this and the original story, itself. I would consider Hancock to be approximately five foot eight to five foot nine. Somewhere in the middle road, there. It's not a huge alteration from what I had previously but one I felt I wanted to make regardless. Hey, you can still be a shorty and kick some serious butt.

3.) **The Nine** : It stands to reason that some of the members of the Neighborhood Watch were involved directly in the coup all those years ago. Most likely not all of them, as the town has grown in that time but a good chunk I would at least assume. The original nine would have included Melanie (Who is, spoiler alert: Fahrenheit) Adrian and Hancock. Exempting Adrian, who I have made to dwarf the other characters, the Neighborhood Watch are all based off the character designs they have in game. I just gave them some uh... gangster names.

4.) **The uh... kind of rude allusions to Vic's weight** : Yeah okay, they were flat out rude. Now, neither I, nor fictional Hancock I'm sure, would ever make fun of or demean anyone for their weight. Only Vic the dick gets that sort of crap and that's only because everyone else in Goodneighbor was emaciated because he was eating all their 'effing food! His weight was directly offensive to everyone else because they were all a bunch of hangry little skeletons and he and his guards were starving them so they could get plump. Which I imagine is probably hard to do on a diet of Commonwealth food but apparently not impossible. So, my darlings, no offense meant and believe you me, I've got a chunky butt myself so I'm certainly not judging!

5.) **How Hancock became Mayor:** It does say in the game that he is 'The self-appointed Mayor' and that this was 'accepted by everyone'. The way I look at it, just from my interpretation of Hancock's character, is that he is not the kind of individual who has the arrogance to assume that he would be the best thing for the town and I can't see him jumping up and down and screaming for the chance to be mayor. Given that he sees himself as a man 'of the people' I feel that he would have assumed the mantle, if he most honestly felt that this is genuinely what the folks of Goodneighbor wanted. That to me would be more in his character than just puffing his chest out and parading around the Statehouse balcony like a big decrepit Peacock. But then again, who knows? He may very well have been a precocious little burke when he was younger and I'm just giving him too much credit.

6.) **Of the people, for the people:** Just so folks don't take me to be an unread silly-head, I just wanted to add that even though Hancock didn't know where the words came from originally, _I_ do. It came from John Wycliff in 1384 as a prelude to his Biblical translation and was later adopted by Theodore Barker for a sermon he gave in the Music Hall of Boston. President Abraham Lincoln was awarded a copy of the sermon by his law partner and incorporated it into his Gettysburg address. (Boom. Historied!)

A fair warning in advance, this is the only chapter written in third person. The rest are alternating first person between various characters. Now you can't possibly act surprised come chapter two!

Thanks for taking a peek guys and I'll hopefully see you next time. Feel free to comment in whatever fashion strikes you as appropriate. I am looking to improve my writing, so genuinely offered advice and critiques are always well received.

Take it easy until then, my darlings!

All my love,  
~ Madam Mortis ~ xxx ooo


	2. A Spoonful of Sugar

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fallout 4 or any of the characters of its franchise. I wish I could lay claim to some of the Watchmen and the Female Sole Survivor but I bet even they've got the big trademark stamp firmly plastered on their little butts. Ah well, I'll just be content with borrowing them for a while! I'll try and be gentle.

 **A/N** : Good grief, it's true what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. In my head, this chapter had one fricken line; "Hancock chews over memories in the memory den" and look what happens! Guess it just goes to show how fun it is to write as Hancock; though it isn't easy. It's hard to try and be smart, clever, charismatic and badass all at the same time.  
Just for the sake of being clear, the main story (exempting flashbacks, which will be appropriately marked) is set a year and two months after the Female Sole Survivor emerges from cryostasis and goes bumbling about the Commonwealth. Hey, I figure all the stuff you actually do would in reality take much longer than they make it seem in the actual game, especially without a car to fang around in!

Anyhow, as the story now goes, first person chapters will have the narrators name appear above it. Pretty straight forward, I hope! The Female Sole Survivor is introduced in this chapter and it is much less gory and nasty than the first. I'll try and make up for that later on. And with that, I hope you all have a nice read and see you on the other side!

" _Some may call it a curse, a life like mine_

 _But others, a blessing_

 _It's certainly a lonely life_

 _But a fulfilling one at best_

 _It's my cross to bear_

 _But I bear it gladly."_

– _**Within Temptation 'Why not me?'**_

 _ **John Hancock**_

 _ **Goodneighbor – Current Day…**_

The viewing screen of the memory pod swung back, giving me room to sit up. But I remained where I was, wanting to take stock and pull my thoughts together properly before I exited the lounger. Not to mention that my eyes were a little damp and I sure as shit didn't need anyone seeing that and running off to gossip about. _"Big Bad Mayor bawls in Memory Den."_ Great… Marowski's goons would be on me faster than a bad case of dysentery.

I used my shirt sleeve to wipe beneath my eyes. Strange that I couldn't recall the point at which the tears had started but I guess that's the point of the memory loungers. You're supposed to integrate almost entirely with the memory itself, not remained attached in any capacity to your suspended body. How any of this shit works, I don't half wonder.

I sighed deeply, squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the space between my brows to try and ease the dull ache throbbing inside of my skull. I don't know how Kenny-boy managed to bed hop these things all the time. Immersing yourself in the past had its perks sure, but the nascent brain pain that followed every viewing sure as hell wasn't one of them. It might have only lasted for five minutes but they were five minutes of throbbing equivalent to the world's worst hangover.

On this occasion, I wasn't sure that the trade-off had been worth it. Looking back on Vic's usurping was supposed to remind me of where I had come from and what sacrifices were required to get to this point. Instead, the John Hancock in my memories looked a completely different person. Least of all in appearance.

He was so… young. Young and raw and ripe with all the flaky, (no pun intended) unappealing attributes that youth brings to ride. He was much angrier and far more afraid of everything around him. Afraid to fail and let everyone down. He was a man who threw himself around with reckless abandon, without pausing to truly consider the consequences of his actions. He fired a fucking double barrel _one-handed_ , for god's sake.

It had been hard to relive that night. It remains to this day one of the memories that I have most stubbornly refused to access because my aging recollection of it was preferable to the reality. In my mind, it always seemed kind of heroic and romanticized; taking on the man and not only winning, but not losing a single person from our side.

In reality it was a merciless, bloody and graceless bloodbath.

You couldn't deny that the town had faired a great deal better. It was still troubled in its way but it was most certainly no longer the home to the unprecedented bullying, lynches, rapes and indiscriminate victimization that were its flavor of the past. I thought I'd pulled it together well whilst acting as the Mayor.

At least… I hope to God that I had.

The question remained though: _Had_ I been a stronger person then? Was there some indiscernible spark that rambunctious thirty-six-year-old me held which compelled others in a way that I had now lost? Was I actually a _good_ mayor or was I just _better_ in comparison to Vic?

Who's to say. And besides, it wasn't really the point of my taking a stroll down memory lane, now was it? What I had needed to see, or rather, needed to _feel_ was that imperceptible little something that had sustained me in a time when I felt the weight of so much desperate hope bearing down on me.

I guess what it boiled down to was that past Hancock had the liberty of knowing he had nothing to lose by taking action against Vic and his boys. The lives of his fellow drifters were important of course but they'd all signed the same metaphorical contract to get in there and give their hardest or die trying. We all knew that there was no point in continuing to live in this world if the best it had to offer was the constant fear of looking over your shoulder. That sort of clarity is what it takes to imbue a man with a whole shit ton of 'what the fuck', which can fuel the fire of determination in his gut for a damned long time.

When it all burns out though and there's no one left to rail against, you find out that life itself is the hardest, longest battle you've ever gotta fight on nothing but a belly of coals. ' _The banality of evil'_ I heard some wise ass say once and I still can't help but think that it's applicable. We had gained our freedom from Vic's tyranny and re-established Goodneighbor as a town of liberty and tolerance; free from prejudicial bullshit and dictatorial bellicosity. Where everyone could feel free to be who they are, to live without judgement.

Most of the time… I think it worked. I'm damn sure I was a better Mayor than Vic, though this isn't a call I make without ample evidence to support it. It took a few years to really nut out the kinks and there was the occasional, unavoidable snag where some japed asshole interpreted ' _Everyone's welcome'_ as ' _I'll do whatever the hell I goddamn want at the expense of everyone else'_.

Eventually, my hands stopped shaking when I had put enough of these pricks down. I also stopped going on benders every other night and wiping myself out with a cocktail of chems, alcohol and the occasional woman who was able to pretend she didn't care that I had a fast accelerating state of necrosis. I got a little bit dozier, a bit more chilled out. I started taking the odd nap during the afternoon, simply because I had nothing better to do.

I was getting old. And I was bored with the same old routine. Even looking over my shoulder for the next _coup de grâce_ was getting tedious. I would go to ground for Goodneighbor and the folks who live there in a New Vegas minute but in the last few years or so, I had started to feel like something was… just _missing_. It niggled beneath my skin and pierced my thoughts like the barb of a Bloodbug's stinger.

It felt like… I don't quite know how to describe it. Like I'd gone my entire life without tasting sugar or some such thing. And now, by pure chance, someone had dropped a spoonful of it into my coffee one morning and now I could not imagine how I had ever before functioned without it. A person can go for so long, not struggling in the least but also not knowing how something might improve their life, simply because they have never been exposed to it. Looking back, I could now appreciate how bitter everything had been in comparison to how sweet the world now tasted. Hell, eleven years ago I might have been one of the biggest badasses strutting his stuff but trying to remind myself of the fact sure as shit didn't make the prospect of a sugar-free future any more appealing.

I'm beating around the bush here. You all know what this is about. Just a fancy way of saying that that old cliché finally found John Hancock and bit him square on his necrotic ass.

It was a girl… well, a woman, actually. Isn't it always? How many stories in history, I wonder, are bedecked with that old chestnut: " _Man changes his life and becomes a better, more complete person because some hot little totty came sweeping into his world and proved to be somehow more amazing than any other woman he's ever met…"_ \- blah fucking _blah._

Though I knew it wouldn't help and it was completely counterproductive to what I had set out to do in the first place, I reached over and re-entered my personal code into the memory pods manual key command. I'm sure Irma and the doc wouldn't be impressed if they caught wind of me taking liberties like this; I had only paid for the lone Immersion after all but I figured I'd just slap some extra caps in their hands before I left as a means to make up the difference.

I rested my head back down into the cushioned support, making room for the viewing screen to rotate back down into place before my eyes. I barely felt the intrusion of the spider web thin cranial wires as they slid into the base of my skull but then of course, you were never supposed to. They injected a mild numbing agent the moment they pierced your skin, which was a feeling I'm sure a lot of people came to experience just as much as the subsequent mental soaking.

The screen displayed a black and white count down code, which I focused on following so as to distract myself from the strange, stinging feeling inside of my skull. Those of course were the wires piercing their way through the spinal cord and accessing the parts of my brain that contained segments of my memories. Dr. Amari tried to explain it to me once and though I certainly didn't consider myself stupid by any stretch, it would have taken more than my usual allotment of Mentats to try and keep up with her on the subject. She eventually boiled it down in layman's terms to the brain having different 'compartments' like a wardrobe; one shelf in which socks were kept, another in which trousers were kept and so on and so forth. Together, an item from each compartment could make up an entire ensemble but you weren't able to get all these various pieces just from the one place, which is why the wires needed to insert themselves in several different parts of the brain. As a man who only had one outfit to his name, this analogy worked best in theory for me. Especially when that outfits regular home was either slung on the edge of a bedframe or bundled up on the floor in easy reach of a groping, hangover affected arm. But I got her meaning all the same.

The screen itself didn't actually show the memory of course, but acted as a kind of 'trance inducing device'? I think that's how the doc referred to it, anyway. One of the wires was responsible for sinking your consciousness into the memory, whilst the screen aided in lulling you into the hypnotic state required for full immersion. I found that if I had taken any chems prior to entering the memory pod, I myself was unable to immerse entirely, especially if the Chem had a stimulant effect. A drink actually aided it a great deal though not so much as to alter your consciousness entirely. Tricky stuff, to be sure. Not sure how these girls got their heads around it but they were definitely sitting comfortable on the money it brought them.

My one real job was to focus on the memory I wanted to relive; a specific date was good but most folks don't have a perfect photographic memory of the exact time and date certain shit happened to them. Ongoing history of Chem use, notwithstanding. A visual image was fine and I dithered for a second on what I was after exactly before settling on an event that was only two months prior. I felt one last resonating sting as I focused on that memory and squinted my eyes to sharpen my vision on the numbers counting down before me. I could feel myself sinking under now, almost like falling asleep under the influence of a glass of half decent scotch and a shot of Med-X.

 _ **The Commonwealth – Two Months ago…**_

And as quick as I had seemed to fall asleep, I was awake again and fully entrenched behind the eyes of one John Hancock; two months younger. It was always a disorienting feeling, for you had absolutely no control over the memory itself; you were simply a passenger behind your own eyes, held hostage to the past decisions and actions of the you that came before. What particularly bugged me was the blinking; you never notice when you do it yourself but you sure as shit notice it when you have to sit there, trying to watch something and a big curtain of black comes crashing down.

Two-months younger Hancock was staring out at a particularly dreary landscape as well; a thunderous radiation storm, surmounted by thick sleets of rain that pounded the landscape like slaps from a Behemeth's hand. Everything frothed and fettered with that repugnant green glow, the sky lanced by sharp streaks of lightening. There was an insistent ticking noise coming from behind me, which sounded almost like the far off cracking of machine gun fire. It was a Pip-Boy, responding in its usual 'dibber-dobber' fashion to the radiation in the air.

"Hang around in this for much longer, you're gonna end up looking like me," I said, taking a step back further so as to shield myself beneath the lip of the bus shelter under which we had taken refuge. I felt pressure on my lips and then the dry, full feeling of tobacco hitting the back of my throat before filling my lungs. He – _I_ – exhaled out into the evening air, watching the push of the rain catch the smoke and obliterate it. "Unless of course you're looking to join the Brotherhood of Ghoul's, in which case I think you're going about it the wrong way, chicken."

An unimpressed snort from behind me, followed by what sounded to be a rhythmic stamping of feet to pavement. You know, what people do when they're cold to try and warm themselves up. Not that it was cold mind you; the air was ridiculously muggy but anyone is likely to catch a chill when they're caught unexpectedly in the wet.

"Don't know if I could pull it off as well as you do, John," She muttered and I could even hear the teasing smile in her voice as she said it. It made my heart beat that little bit faster, just to hear that voice again; tinged even as it was with weariness and thinly veiled irritation. "Haven't got half the charisma or a third of the confidence… I'd be one of those ones with their head buried in a book, like you said. Trying to cake on half a pound of makeup while reading _Grognak the Barbarian_ ; tracing _Hotrod Red_ lipstick around my mouth like a fucking funhouse clown. I'd be sniped from a quarter mile away!"

We both laughed at this, acknowledging, I think, that this would have been entirely in her character. I turned in the memory to offer her the cigarette and she slowly eased into the corner of my vision, before a blink crashed down and blocked her out for a second longer. When my eyelids shot back up, she was center focus, taking the smoke from between my fingers with two of her own. Her hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her lips, thanking me before sucking the smoke back into her lungs. The me of the past nodded without much consideration, whilst the me who perched hostage behind his eyes drew on the memory with a relish comparable only to that of a man who, having been dying of thirst in the Wasteland, was now being handed a bottle of cold Purified Water. Cap peeled back and all.

Evelyn Anne Hallows. Or Eve, as she preferred to be known, not that I called her by her actual name very often. Only when things were getting heavy and required a toning down of our usual playful, light hearted banter. Most everyone had some sort of nickname for her, all of which she responded to. Sometimes, she looked confused by her given name, which always made me laugh when she failed to adhere to it a couple of times.

She looked rather more miserable on this occasion; short, messy blonde hair clinging to her forehead and lying flat against her skull from where the rain had battered her. Black eye makeup running in rivulets down over her cheeks, lipstick smeared and concealer blotted away in places. She was open about using makeup and confessed to enjoying it, which I could only respect because I could see it took a lot of discipline and determination to paint yourself up like that regularly. Especially when you were running around the Wasteland where no one gave a fuck about how pretty you looked. Even on this occasion, when it had just been the two of us and all the others had parted ways temporarily to attend to their various responsibilities, she kept up the usual routine.

I wondered perhaps if part of her preoccupation with artificially prettying herself up, was to do with the fact that she considered herself to be a little boyish in appearance (her words, not mine). With her short, shaggy blonde hair, defined jawline and slightly broad shoulders, she did at a distance have the appearance of a young guy running about, especially since she predominately favored jeans, boots, shirts and, on occasion, a tattered old fur rimmed winter jacket. She also had a natural copper skin tone, suggestive of a farm hand who was regularly out under the sun working the crop rotation. She joked about this offhandedly and yet with a reoccurrence which suggested she was that slightest bit insecure about her appearance at times.

Not that I could really get my head around it. To me, she looked like a mature woman in her late twenties (which she was, though how mature she was depended on how she chose to behave on any given occasion). To say nothing of the fact that she was positively _stacked._ Her breasts (which she professed to hating) were full and her hips were wide; arching out from a perfectly pinched waistline and giving further emphasis to her round, apple shaped ass.

She was self-conscious about her size at times; because she was bigger than the other girls we had travelled with and most other women in the Wasteland aside. Not that she was fat... sturdy, would probably be the more appropriate word. Like her... bones had been made larger and her body was simply forced to work around what had been provided. But she was strong and fit and in great shape; even with a somewhat round, soft, post-pregnancy tummy (in which she kept copious liters of wine, mind you).

I thought Eve was extremely pretty, regardless of whether she was lathered with makeup or not. Her smoky eyes and plum colored lipstick gave her a kind of individualized rebellious look that naturally appealed to an old agitator like me. Plus, it was frickin' hysterical whenever we had to jump in the water, swim somewhere or we got stuck in the rain like on this occasion because it went absolutely fucking everywhere and I got to torment the ever-loving shit out of her.

Even as a spectator in my own memory, I could feel the lips of my past self-quirking up as I took her ruffled visage in. I mean, don't get me wrong in the fun I take at her expense; that's just the kind of relationship that we had. Sort of… lovingly sadistic, you might say.

She took another puff of the cigarette and sighed, raising her head to look at me with the same expression her pooch might have done if he had been caught out in the wet. _That_ was what I had been thinking of in particular when I had chosen this memory; _this_ moment. I loved this girls' eyes; big, wide and sharply angled upward in the corners. _Radstag eyes_ , I had thought from the first moment I had met her, for she nearly always had this big dewy expression of startled perplexity. (She differed on this point, stating that she had 'the eyes of a frog that looked like it was being interfered with', which obliterated any sense of innocence I fancied ever seeing there).

Unlike a Radstag however, her eyes were green; a yellow-tinted green, which she herself equated to 'stale mustard'. (In case it wasn't half obvious; this girl is hardly keen on herself). It wasn't a color one got to see very often in the Wasteland, except on an evening like that one when the sky was lit up with the glow of the irradiated rain, pierced by the strobes of lightning flung in from the Glowing Sea.

With most of her makeup having run off of her face, the bruises adorning her flesh were lain bare for inspection. There was a black shadow surrounding one eye and a thicker, almost purple discoloration that plumped the right-hand side of her lovely, curved lips. Her cheekbone was still slightly swollen and the bridge of her nose had a dark band across it; which bled down into the smoky awnings she had carefully brushed into place on her eyelids that very morning.

Not a one of these injuries was funny, of course and the memory of how they had come about was perhaps one of the very worst I had ever retained. They ran congruent with the terrible itching burn that assailed my back; the tight, stretchy pull from where my already damaged flesh was attempting to bind itself together. But my past self was chuckling all the same; amused I think by her expression, rather than the sad condition of her face and body. Nonetheless, I felt a little annoyed with past Hancock for ruining the moment. Clearly, he had yet had to experience any real length of time apart from her and as such there was no reverence for her company whatsoever.

Eve narrowed those eyes now in his (my) direction, staring down the line of her cheek in that reproachful way an animal might do just before it decides to take a bite out of you. "What are you laughing at?" She near whispered, her voice taking on an intentionally humorous baritone like quality.

"You," I responded, with a not at all thinly veiled chuckle. "Ya look a fucking fright, Munch."

I couldn't see her expression in response to this but I knew exactly what it would have been; mouth dropping open to form a near perfect oval of offense whilst glaring up from beneath her brows. Sure enough, when Past Hancock dared to glance back that was precisely what he was confronted with. It wasn't true offense, of course. She was too down to earth to take herself too seriously but she liked to play the game just as much as I did.

"Oh… well I am _so_ sorry, John." She said, climbing to her feet and dusting her backside off as she approached. She leaned in close to jab the cigarette between my lips, her own mouth quirking tellingly off to the side in that way it did when she was trying not to laugh. "What is the world coming to, when a stud like yourself has to be seen in the company of some fat old trot like me? Hopefully we don't run into someone you know."

I inhaled on the cigarette and puffed the smoke out around it, wondering if she had left a ring of lipstick about the filter as she so often did. Sometimes it came off on my own lips, which more often than not led to a few teasing accusations. None of which were true, sadly, but I liked to indulge them all the same.

"I'll just pretend I don't know ya," I said, taking the last draw from the cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out with my boot. "Seriously though, I don't reckon this storm is gonna be lettin' up anytime soon. And it's startin' to get dark. What say we find a place to hunker down for the night, hit the trail up again first thing in the 'morrow?"

Eve didn't look pleased by this and I wagered it was because she wasn't a huge fan of sitting still for long. It hadn't been a productive day I remembered; we had been waylaid by just about every scumbag the Commonwealth had cared to toss in our direction and now the radiation storm had settled in overhead with no sign of budging. Having nothing in particular to show for a good concentrated eight hours of moseying would have been pissing her off, I'm sure.

With a sigh, she checked the map on her Pipboy, using her finger to pull the screen back and forth to highlight possible nearby locations. A crash of lighting made her flinch her shoulders in but she refocused her attentions with double the intensity. Girl had taken on a Death Claw not two days into the Commonwealth and still got nervy in thunderstorms; go figure.

"There's a building close by… Cambridge Campus Diner. Should give us some better coverage than this old bus stop."

"Cool," I said, reaching over to grab my duffel from the bus seat and slinging the strap over my shoulder. I jostled it around until the strap sat comfortable across the line of my chest before picking up my double barreled shotgun from where it had been leaning against the shelter wall. I took a moment to check it over. "Maybe we can grab dinner while we're there. I'll shout ya a piece of pie."

Eve groaned dramatically as she snatched up her own bag and hurled it onto her back with such force she nearly toppled right off of her feet. "Ugh, don't even joke about that. I know for you guys that the idea of even eating pie is just having a lend of yourselves but so help me God, I'd cut one of your legs off right now if it got me just one piece of pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top." She sighed as I helped her adjust her pack, though she really didn't deserve it after revealing just how little she thought of me and my legs. "FYI, a pumpkin is kinda like a gourd… only a gourd is sweeter and-"

"Munch? I couldn't honestly give two fucks," I said, grabbing the trailing sleeve of her packs adjustment strap and yanking it hard so that it pulled a tight, dividing line between the slopes of her breasts. She yelped as the force brought her up to the tips of her toes and then grunted as I set the bag flush against her spine and ruffled the back of her head. "There. Fucking thing was driving me nuts, bouncing around all over the place while you were running. Lucky you haven't lost half your shit. Now, how far is the diner from here?"

"A good hop, skip and a jump to the South of us," Eve muttered, running her hand back through her soggy hair to straighten up the areas where I had fluffed it. She saw my less than impressed expression I suppose and gave an unapologetic shrug of her shoulders. "I'm not good with directions, you know this! Just go _that_ way!" She snapped, jabbing her hand in a vague direction I'm certain encompassed all the cardinal points.

"Yeah okay… we'll just run around like dipshits in the rain and get ourselves sniped by the one Super mutant who knows how to aim a gun in any other direction but himself." I grumbled, lifting one browridge to show exactly what I thought of this concept. Eve hooked one leg around the other and then tilted dramatically towards me, forcing her shoulder against my chest with enough force to send me stumbling back into the shelter wall. The entire thing shook and quaked in time with a crash of thunder from up above, which I think gave her more of a fright than it did me. "Oi, cut that shit out and take your Rad-X. If this storm keeps going the way it's going, you'll end up looking as sexy as me and you know I don't take rivalry well."

Eve chuckled as she unbuckled one of her belt pouches and pulled out a sheathe of Rad-X tablets, popping one from the foil blister before tossing it into her mouth. She gave a few chomps, turning the thick pill to what I recall was a horrible, bitter paste. Naturally, it had been a while since I had been required to use the things myself.

"Ugh," She complained, her neck elongating like a distressed baby bird as she choked the mess down with nothing to chase it. "God, I wish I had a glass of wine to wash that shit back. Tastes like the asshole end of a Brahmin."

I smirked at her and gave a little chuckle. "I'm tempted to ask how you know what the asshole end of a Brahman tastes like Munch but I'm guessing some things are better off not knowing, huh?"

Instead of smacking me or getting insensitive, Eve returned my smile and made a V shape with her middle and index fingers, placing them against her chin. "Let's just say a girl can get awful lonely out on the open road when she's only got herself for company," She said, sticking her tongue out between her two fingers in a lewd gesture I'm almost certain she had learned from me. "Good thing I got you along now, right?"

I laughed at this, though I could feel even in the memory what the insinuation of those words and that gesture had done to me. Not for the joking reference to having applied any part of her anatomy in an intimate fashion to a passing Brahmin but to almost insinuate that _I_ was in a position to appease her base desires.

Nothing had happened between us in this sense. Not… directly, anyway. There were always the little jokes, the allusions, the oft reciprocated flirtation here and there. Sometimes, there was even the physical closeness, which bordered on that next critical step yet never quite tilted over.

It was fucking frustrating but that's what happened when you somehow became best buds with the person you were trying to commando roll into bed with. You end up drinking beer, cracking jokes and making a pillow fort rather than fucking each other's brains out. Sadly. I would have been happy to have done all four in one evening if I'd been given the option but there you go.

"Well I'm sure the Brahmin population has been resting easier since I got on board," I had said, somehow keeping a calm, temperate tone in spite of the hormonal flush that made my body feel way too warm in my flash little coat. I wondered then, as I wonder now, whether the ignorant girl had any idea as to what I was thinking. "And I'll sure as shit complain a lot less. Now, let's get movin' before you go and say something even more disturbing than the crap you just came out with."

"Seriously, darl? In this world, it disturbs me to think that somewhere out there, someone right now is putting the actual moves on a Brahmin rather than just joking about it." Her eyes lit up then and she turned to me with that look of wonderment she only ever got when she was about to say something really fucking stupid. "Heh, get it? Putting the _moo-ves_ on a Brahmin?"

I groaned, sweeping my hat off my head and giving it a shake to dislodge any remaining water particles that might have been clinging to it. "Jesus H. Christ… all the radiation in that water must have run down into your ears and gone straight into your brain. Here," I said, plonking my hat down onto her head and twisting it from side to side, like fitting a cork back into a bottle. "Take this. Because I'm sure as shit not gonna spend the rest of our travels listening to those stupid cracks."

She smiled at me and adjusted the hat with a little wink of one of her heavily smeared eyes. "You're giving me your fancy little tricorner? What an honor!" She gave a mocking sweep of her arm. "I shall try to prove myself worthy of it, Guv na."

"Then maybe try and be a little less sarcastic," I said, reaching out to pull the brim of the hat down so that it covered her eyes. "And keep in mind, you get shot out there and I'm comin' to fetch it back."

"You're all heart, honey." She muttered, pushing the hat back up so that her eyes were clear, before reaching down to tug her sidearm out of her holster. I resisted taking it off her and checking it myself, knowing that she needed to keep her skills sharp for whenever I wasn't around but it was hard to watch her struggle all the same.

Eve was relatively proficient at using a firearm; a skill she had her Pop to thank for, she had told me. Her hand eye coordination was pretty bang on and she had good aim when it came to taking something down; able to keep her arms and body steady whilst firing a shot. But she had been taught mostly to fire a weapon after it had been plonked into her hands and had learnt very little else about reloading and maintenance. Discounting a rifle, which had been the gun her father had mostly used on his people's reservation and the one with which she had learned to shoot in the first place. Pistols, shotguns and everything else aside, she struggled with the loading and routine upkeep of.

Stubborn as a backed-up Brahmin though, she insisted on learning so as to be able to take care of matters herself if there was no one around to help her. I could understand this; having done the self-same thing when I'd been out training in the Wasteland with the Nine. Being self-sufficient is essential to keeping oneself alive when push comes to shove.

But she was so fucking clumsy that it drove me to blithering distraction. Girl would have a Suicider bearing down on her and she wouldn't have a problem plugging it between the eyes but if the clip came up empty, whelp… better hope your hammies are up to the task of hauling your ass outta there. 'Cause there ain't no way she was reloading before that big bastard went and blew his lid.

I watched as quietly and as patiently as I was able; biting back a sigh that threatened to sneak out when I saw her fumble one of the .44 bullets out of the six-slot cylinder, sending it tumbling to the ground. I pinned it down with my foot, aborting my own low class sarcastic response as she scooped the bullet up with a bashful 'Cheers' and set to work rehoming it inside of the weapon.

Nice gun too. Had once belonged to Kellogg; a mercenary hired by the Institute. A .44 Magnum revolver that had the stopping power to put a Yao Guai on its ass. Bad enough to bring a Gunner up short, you go and foist this hand cannon in their direction.

Saved Eve's life more times than she could count, I'm sure. Which is both ironic and devastating when you consider the stark reality; that this was the gun that had killed her husband.

I'm not sure how she had the strength to even touch the damn thing. Girl was… strange sometimes. She seemed to possess this unrivalled ability to sort of… switch off from shit that'd have most others curled in a ball, sinking their knees up into their mouths and disappearing inside of themselves.

Not to suggest that she was a cold person. Far from it. Eve was one of the warmest, most caring individuals I had ever met, which actually made her emotional dissociation the more peculiar. She was in fact almost a little too empathetic, which I think is why we hardly ever made any real progress towards the Institute. Lots of needy people out in the Commonwealth and whilst I was always one to lend a hand, Eve was almost… how you say? _Demented,_ I think is the only word that adequately sums it up. Positively, undeniable, irreparably _demented_ in her desire to fill the much unwanted role of 'Commonwealth Fixer Upper'. Woman could not say 'no'. (Which is a theory I would have loved to have put to the test in a more private, _naked_ setting, but I digress).

It was an endearing trait and demonstrably admirable… that is until you've forced to run halfway across the fucking Wasteland with her in search of motorized pony parts and you start to wonder to yourself, _'Could the sex_ ever _be worth this many Stingwing bites?'_

Yet in spite of this rampant, frothing, rabies like sensitivity, Eve carried on her hip the very firearm that had taken her husbands' life.

I drifted back out of my musings and refocused on the memory, returning once more to Past-Hancock's feelings of impatience and frustration as Eve finally reloaded the pistol and clicked the cylindrical chamber back into place. She holstered it and then (having seen my raised brow, I suppose) adjusted her belt so that the barrel of the gun was pointed back behind her and not out along the line of her thigh.

"I know, I _know_ , you don't need to say it," She grumbled, putting a hand out towards my mouth which was indeed open to admonish her. Her fingers pressed to my lips and pinched them shut. "Yeah, I'm too slow at the reload and yeah I could blow my leg off if I don't holster the gun right. _'Never point that shit at anythin' you ain't intending to put to bed'_. You sound just like my Dad when you go on with that crap."

I didn't bother hiding my impatience with her this time and gave her an unfiltered expression of reproach as I guided her fingers away from my mouth. "Far be it from me ta wanna nag like your Pop and our old buddy Nick but you'll be grateful for me offloading all this 'crap' if it prevents you getting shot again, missy. You might remember that it wasn't that much fun."

She groaned at this, clearly taking in the memory of the event as soon as I had said it. "That's for damn sure. Wouldn't much fancy that again."

"Well then, learn to take good advice when you hear it," I said, sounding a little prudish even to my own ears and hoping that this wasn't a trend I had developed in order to compensate for Nick's absence. I reached over to give Eve a little cluck on the chin, feeling for just a moment the thick scarring that marred her skin there; a knitted slash wound that ran up to bare millimeters below her painted lips. It was such a shame… not that she was any less pretty to me, of course. "Let's get goin', kiddo. Soon as we settle our asses down, we'll crack us open a coupla bottles of good times."

"Hell yeah," She said, smirking as she tugged my hat down low over her brow before sliding her pistol out from the holster and steadying it with both hands by her side, pulling the safety into place with a slow reverential pluck of her thumb. Not sure why she felt the need to holster it in the first place but hey… I was slowly learning with Eve not to expect a great deal of common sense. "I'll keep an eye out to the left… you watch the right."

"Gotcha," I said and then we shelved our need to communicate further. Sank instead into that deeply familiar silence as we panned our eyes over the scene before us. Visibility was shit and I couldn't see a damned thing past a good ten feet, which meant we were putting ourselves at a hell of a risk ducking out to find alternative shelter. Hanging around underneath a bus stop all night wasn't exactly strategic either. Not to mention I was jonesing for a hit.

We burst out into the downpour, keeping a comfortable three or four feet apart and focusing our weapons off to the side, with the occasional circle around to build a good three-sixty view of the area. The positive thing was that if _we_ were having this much trouble seeing in the rain, whatever else may have been out here wasn't seeing jack shit either. A roaming animal might hear us splashing along however and there were any number of hungry critters out there that wouldn't mind conditions being a little damp.

My head and shoulders were soaking within the first minute and my socks felt saturated inside my already far too clammy shoes. I was also painfully aware of the fact that I would probably start to smell before too long, having exposed my affected flesh to the water without first treating it with the standard skin care supplies that all Ghouls (well, at least the considerate, hygienic ones) were encouraged to use. Call me a nancy if you want but I wasn't altogether relishing the thought of stinking like a wet hound in front of the woman I fancied.

I wished desperately and not for the first time, that I could dim some of my connection to the experiences of my past self, hating that I was essentially chained back into that horrible moist squishiness in my shoes, at the coldness of the rain hitting my hairless scalp and running rivulets down my neck. Don't get me wrong; a man can be a romantic and be willing to put himself through any sort of hell just to get a good look at his girl one more time. But having a cold drop of water slide down into the crack of your ass sure throws that sentiment into debate, I'll tell ya that.

Eve's pip boy was ticking irascibly to my left as we ran; clearly unimpressed with its owners' decision to immerse herself in a radiation diluted shower. Naturally, as a Ghoul, radiation had no effect on me and it did in fact made me feel a little better if I were nursing injuries. But to a little Smoothskin like her? That shit wasn't recommended and could make a body feel sick as a dog in under no time. Hence the reason I had dropped my hat on her head when I did. Rad-X could do so much but keeping your head outta the muck in the first place was a much cleverer choice than just bumbling on out into it and taking a full faced drenching.

No one was shooting at us yet, which was always a good sign, though I wondered how long our luck would last. It would be the first full hour of the day that no one had tried to kill us… touch wood.

But of course, this was the Commonwealth. A land fully determined to kick the human races proverbial keister and it didn't take much of a breather from its desire to do so. The rain was pounding the earth so hard that I didn't hear the approach myself, though the footfalls of this particular predator weren't particularly loud even on a clear day. What I did hear, was Eve's cry of; "DOG! _TEN O_!" and then the prompt, resonating 'BOOM' of her weapon.

When communicating with one another during a combat situation, we had agreed early on to keep things as simple as possible: Name the threat, name the direction. We didn't even waste breath by saying 'o'clock', shortening it instead to just the number and O. What I understood from Eve's directions was that a wild Mongrel had just made ground on us and was only a short swivel to the left of me. What I was able to figure out for myself was that the weather had severely limited our vision to a good few meters at best; so, this asshole was already up nice and tight in our business.

Sure enough, in the second it took me to swing around and sight the prick, it had already lunged up and sunk its jaw around Eve's left arm. She had sacrificed her non-preferential limb in order to spare her throat from being mauled, which was the thing wild dogs tended to go for straight away in the attack. Fortunately, her jacket was able to provide some cushioning against the crushing force of the mutts teeth. I hadn't heard the thing yelp, so I could only guess that in her surprise, Eve had wasted her shot. A mistake which could prove to be fatal.

Mongrel dogs were a common enough sight in the Commonwealth; the packs having roamed unchecked for hundreds of years now and competing with larger, more desperate predators like human beings and Yao Guai in order to secure food for themselves. They were proficient predators that usually hunted in packs and it was rare to see a rogue acting on its own, so I was immediately aware of the need to check the area for any of its companions, who might come flooding in at a moment's notice. It usually only took a few seconds for the rest of the pack to join in the attack, so when I didn't see another come gamboling in, I figured we were just dealing with one desperate rogue male.

The dogs weight had brought Eve over into a near crouch and she went with it, rather than allowing the animal to force her body into an unhelpful position. She slid one leg back, pushing her shin and knee onto the wet ground and sank her chin onto her chest, keeping her neck covered. She didn't waste energy by screaming, which was a smart choice, as it would only weaken her for the fight. A mongrel dog may not look like much compared to the massive mauling capacity of an angry Yao Guai but it could still do some serious damage if it got you where it needed.

I couldn't discharge my sawn-off when Eve was this close to the enemy; I would just as likely riddle her with pellets as I would the dog. I did the next best thing by running up beside them and sinking my boot up between the back of the mutts' legs. Male or female, no animal (four legged or two legged alike) enjoys being hit there and sure enough it emitted such a high pitched yelp that I thought my ear drums might fracture from the sound. It's grip on Eve's arm loosened and instead of unloading her gun into the hounds stupid face, she leaned forward and _shoved_ the pissed off animal in the shoulders, knocking it over onto its side on the wet concrete.

"Piss _off_ , ya stupid, stinky brute!" She yelled, dragging her duffle over her shoulder and dropping it to the ground in front of her with a cacophonous splash. She reefed the opening apart with one hand and started reefing about inside with the other. "If you were so hungry, all ya had to do was ask nicely and it woulda gotten you a lot further. Here!"

Eve revealed a tin of cram that she must have rustled up from some deeply interred trench of the bag. Placing her gun on the ground, she ripped back the pull tab of the tin and then, to my absolute astonishment, turned the can upside down and gave it a few short smacks on the underside in order to empty the gray, unappealing contents onto the ground.

"Are you fucking kidding?" I asked, looking back and forth between Eve, the mess of tinned meat on the ground and the hulking, uncertain expression of the wounded mongrel as it skulked nearby. "You can't seriously be giving some of our food that this mangy piece of shit dog! The thing just tried to bite your arm off!"

Eve glowered at me, her expression so dark you might have thought that it had been _me_ that had tried to separate her limb from her body. "Oh, don't pretend to go all to water over a tin of fucking cram, Hancock. If you had a ukulele, ya would have written a ditty about how much you hate the stuff."

"That doesn't mean you should just throw it to some Wasteland asshole without a second thought! We might not run into another trader for a week or so." I jabbed my finger toward the small hillock of rancorous muck. "That tin of cram might have been all that stood between us and cannibalism and you just gave it away to a fucking _dog!"_

"We have plenty of food." Eve not quite placated, picking her gun back off of the ground and climbing to her feet. She readjusted her bag and then reversed towards me, keeping an eye on the dog, which was staring hungrily at the offering of gluggy congealed meat as if it were a gift from God. "This dog only attacked me because it's hungry and desperate. I highly doubt it was personal; my poor and inexcusable taste in fashion aside. And I'm far too dandy a lady to hold a grudge. Now, what say we leave the poor beastie to his feastie and scramble, eh?"

"Well, that's fucking fantastic," I grumbled to myself, letting her take me by the arm and steer me away from the dog and its undeserved winnings. We were barely three feet away before its hunger got the best of its fear and it finally darted forward, wolfing into the putrid gray meat with the relish Diamond City folks showed their prized bowl of noodles. "I'll remember this logic the next time a Deathclaw has sights on you and offer it up a fucking mutfruit in exchange. Cause I'm sure that'll turn out lovely. Jesus, you're a fucking hippy sometimes, woman. You do remember what happened with the Radstag, right? How well did _that_ work out for you?"

"Yes, all right, _Johnathan_."

"That mutt could have rabies, did you ever think about that? Couple of hours you could be frothing at the mouth and going for _my_ throat. And I'll probably get too excited at the prospect of a little balls deep for Ol' Glory ta realize what's going on until you've ripped my trachea out. How awesome is _that_? You and I dying in a big bloody, frothy tangle, complete with awkward boner and you actually _reward_ the chump who did it by serving it up a nice dinner."

" _All right, Hancock_."

"You come after me, I'll break your fucking head over my knee. _CRACK –_ like an overripe melon. I won't be mucking around with a Mirelurk cake, I'll tell ya that much-"

" _ALL RIGHT, HANCO_ -" The rest of her sentence terminated in a violent green flash which lit the entire area around us as effectively as someone flicking on a light switch. A strobe of lightning had struck the pavement not five feet from where we were standing; engulfing the puddle in which Eve's right foot happened to be partly submerged in, with electricity. I could smell burning hair as she was flung squealing through the air as though thrown by an invisible Super Mutant. Her whole body came crashing down hard onto the tarmac and she was jerking spasmodically, arms curled in towards her chest, making a strange gibbering noise that sounded as though her tongue was caught between her front teeth.

For fucks sake, of _course_. One in a million chance of getting struck by lightning and it had to be the blimmin' _Vault Dweller_ to get all up in it. The only thing that had spared me from the same fate was that Eve had let go of my arm to yell at me, otherwise it would have been the two of us twitching around on the ground like a pair of poisoned Radroaches.

"Jesus!" I yelled, swinging my gun strap around my shoulder as quick as I could and running to kneel at her side. Her foot must have only had the _slightest_ contact with the water, which would explain why she wasn't dead but I still wondered just how many bolts of electricity had gone through her. The ends of her hair looked frayed… the water in the air might have helped conduct the electricity up through her body, I don't know. All I knew was that she looked freakin' terrible and… well… _hysterical_ really, in hindsight.

I know, I know… I'm an asshole. But I have the benefit now of knowing that Eve survived and was no worse the wear really. (Exempting a jagged scar on the bottom of her foot where the electricity entered her). But really, you had to have seen it to understand. She was dithering like someone with a terminal stutter, dribbling down her chin and twitching so hard she was almost turning herself in circles on the ground.

"Eve! You all right, darlin'?" I asked, taking the situation seriously, even though my present self was deriving some horrible mean pleasure from it. It wasn't nice to see her get hurt, of course. I would never take pleasure in seeing her suffer. Having actually laughed about this event with her later though, helped me to look back on the memory with an odd feeling of affection. To see how I could argue with her, poke fun at her and in the next instant to be so damned afraid that I was going to lose her... To me there was no greater proof of just how deep my feelings for this woman went.

I eased one hand down underneath Eve's head, lifting it up off of the wet tarmac. Her hair was saturated and water poured down from the foremost peak of my hat, partly veiling her trembling face. I used my free hand to extend my jacket out over her body, trying to keep as much of the rain off as possible. I didn't want to risk moving her until I was near certain she was okay to be moved. Her lips were still trembling and her already large eyes bulged from her skull; so much so that I thought a good shake might send them skittling onto the ground.

After a minute or so had passed, she puffed air out between her lips, sending spittle down her chin before then clearing her throat; trying to speak, I think. "H-h-h-holy fu-fu-fu-fucking d-d-dooley," Is what she managed to say, fingers clenching in and out as if she were regaining control over them. "Th-th-that was a _sh-sh-sh-shocking ex-p-p-perience."_

I felt the thick breath of relief leave my body, as crippled by the memory as I had been when the event itself had occurred. "If you're fit enough to make stupid-ass jokes chicken, I reckon you're right to keep kicking." I said, chuckling as I released my jacket and used my free hand to stretch out one of her arms, sliding my head underneath it before pulling her chest in towards my shoulder. "Fucking attention seeker. Can't take you anywhere. Gonna have to carry your dopey ass all the way over to the shelter now and get you checked out. Bet you just didn't wanna walk any further, ya lazy brat."

The weight of her bag was more problematic than anything but I figured we didn't have far to go, so I simply left it where it was; slung over her own back. I girded my muscles and pushed myself slowly onto my feet, bringing Eve over my shoulder in the process. Her upper torso dangled down my back like a sodden sack of laundry and she was grumbling some meagre, ill-tempered protest. I hoisted her up a little higher, earning a grunt in response as her stomach thumped into my collarbone and I smacked my hand to her rump, hooking my fingers into the pocket of her jeans to keep her steady. She grunted again; like a dying Mirelurk having something inserted into an unprepared orifice.

"Quiet," I snapped, taking a moment to adjust the straps of both my gun and my duffel. I was carrying a decent heft now; not to suggest that Eve was fat it but she sure as hell wasn't petite by any stretch of the imagination. Not to mention the combined contents of our bags were a fair haul. I just hoped that we had no more interruptions before we reached the diner. "Which way was it again?"

Eve's arm rose slowly and pointed somewhere off to my left before flopping down inelegantly along the line of my back. I turned in the direction that she had indicated and took off at a steady jog, Eve bouncing around on my shoulder like a half-stuffed rag doll. She groaned and grumbled the whole way, still making those terrible dithering sounds, which sounded to me as though she was having trouble parting her teeth to let air in. Small wonder she hadn't bitten her tongue clean off.

"Don't you dare lose my hat," I called back to her, which earned an even more vehement grunt and a hard smack to the center of my spine. At least she had control over her body, which meant it was unlikely she had suffered any severe nerve damage. Small miracle, that.

I saw the light of the diner before the outline of the building came into view. It looked like it was already occupied; if the lantern burning from inside was any such indicator. I kept moving forward, squinting my eyes to try and bring the doorway into focus, praying that we hadn't just blundered up on a Raider encampment. If I were to encounter any resistance, I'd have little choice but to upend Eve into order to draw my gun, which I was almost entirely sure she would not appreciate.

Thinking on my feet, I reached up with my spare hand and quickly tugged Eve's pistol from her side holster, pulling back the safety. I held it with the barrel pointed skyward, ready to drop it down and take aim if the squatters turned out to be less than hospitable. I was close enough now to see someone standing in the doorway of the diner and they were already levelling a firearm in my direction. Well _shit._

"Stop right there!" A woman's voice called out through the rain. She sounded scared, uncertain. This was a good sign. Raider's never had a doubt in their minds and they always acted without hesitation. Good news for me, otherwise I may have already been riddled with bullets. "If you're Raiders, you can just fuck off right back the way you came! You ain't getting in here!"

I loosened my index finger in the trigger nook of the pistol, allowing it to swing down around my hand harmlessly. "Take it easy there, love. Just a couple of fellow scavvers, needin' a bit of shelter. My friend's been hurt pretty bad… she got herself caught by the lightning out there."

"Lightning?" The girl replied, sounding unsurprisingly suspicious. "She wouldn't be hurt bad then; her ass would be _dead_. Pull the other one!"

I felt a hint of impatience creep through, knowing that the longer we stayed out in the rain, the more radiation exposure Eve would have and the more her immune system would weaken as a result. Any injuries she had were only likely to get worse, as such and I still didn't have a clue just how bad she actually was. Going into shock, (no pun intended) can make a person seem completely fine until they roll over and cough up the entire lining of their stomach.

"Ain't pullin' nothin', hun. Bolt of lightning hit the ground not twenty feet from where we're standing now. She got a good zapping from the water it hit. If ya don't let me in so I can treat her, she's likely to curl her toes up right here and now on my shoulder. And then, I'm gonna be chucking one hell of a tantrum. And trust me," I narrowed my eyes a little, not that she was able to see with the distance between us but it made me feel better to do so just the same. She sure as hell couldn't mistake the threat in my voice however, when I then added, "You do _not_ want to see just how big a tantrum I can throw."

I could see the firearm tremble in the girls' hands; she clearly hadn't missed the seriousness of my tone but was still adamant about protecting her little patch of Wasteland gold come hell or high water. In normal circumstances, I can respect that level of caution. At that point however, I was completely prepared to steam roll over some of my own very adamant morals if it meant the difference between Eve living and dying.

Just when things looked as though they were about to go completely Mutfruit shaped, I heard another voice call out from further inside of the diner and a man's distinct silhouette appeared in the doorway beside the woman's. I couldn't make out a great deal of detail but I could tell that he wasn't carrying a firearm.

"Wait… take it easy, Dom." His voice was rough; groggy and unmistakably that of a Ghoul. He took a few steps forward so that I was now able to see him more clearly. I didn't immediately recognize the man but he apparently had no such difficulty; his scarred face breaking out in a gap toothed smile the moment he set eyes on me. "I thought I recognized the voice! If it ain't Mayor Hancock doing the rounds! Been a while, brother."

It came to me then, having heard that familiar Goodneighbor inflection in his tone. "Archie Comerford," I called, chuckling as I holstered Eve's pistol before reaching out with the same hand to clamp hands with the other Ghoul. Small world that it was, Archie had been one of the eight who'd had my back the night we overthrew Vic. He'd then served as a member of the Neighborhood Watch for seven years before falling head over tits for some gal he'd met out in the Fens. They'd taken off together and joined up with a farming settlement, last I'd heard. "You rotten old bastard. What you doing out here in the middle of the sticks? Thought you were supposed to be Honeymooning out West somewhere, grubbing the land?"

"Well, wouldn't we love to be doing _that_ ," Archie said, putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head back in a world-weary gesture. "Raiders get the jump one too many times ya gotta wonder what's the point, ya know? Trying to find us somewhere a little less isolated. Been on the move for a while now. Anyhow, time to catch up after. Let's get ya inside outta this wet."

He led me back towards the entryway of the Diner, where I was able to fully appreciate for the first time the rather unconvinced expression scrawled across his missuses' face. Tiny, red-headed and pretty, this was definitely the little pocket rocket that he'd tossed over Goodneighbor for. Can kind of understand the sentiment now but seven years past I'd been perplexed as to what exactly could have been on offer that'd be worth upending your whole life over. Least the girl had some moxie to stand up to folks in the Wasteland, thank goodness.

"So, you've met Dominique," Archie said, laughing a little at the pissed off look on his girls face. "Aww come on baby, don't give me that. Ya did a great job. This here is Mayor Hancock; guy who runs Goodneighbor. Took good care of me while I was a Watchmen. And this is, um…" He looked over at Eve with an indulgent sort of smile. "Some dude he's kidnapped for reasons best known only to himself."

An immediate grunt of protest sounded from somewhere over my shoulder and I tried my best not to burst out laughing. Ah, shit, it never got old.

"As if I'd waste my time kidnapping a guy," I chuckled, reaching up to give Eve another stout smack on the backside. She grumbled a mild protest. "This limp and infuriating burden is otherwise known as my buddy, Eve. And despite any evidence to the contrary, she is actually female." I turned around so that Eve was facing the couple. "Say hi, Eve."

"Hey there," Archie said cheerfully, kneeling down so he could look up into Eve's no doubt, barely comprehending face. "Sure is nice to meet a chum of Hancock's. Tell ya what girl; you must be somethin' to keep up with him. Most'd be dead or in prison after one day and I know that for a fact!"

"... I have a vagina." Eve grumbled; her tone somehow vague and decidedly cranky in the same instance. Great, now it looked as though I had either drugged her or kidnapped a special needs fallout from the old State Asylum. I mean, what kind of space case introduced themselves by announcing their genital allocation?

Archie chortled, apparently aware of the fact that was likely annoyed with having been mistaken (yet again) for a man. "Um, yeah... sorry about that. Think it might have been the hat and the coat that threw me off." He leant over to my left-hand side now and whispered in my ear. "Um... not to criticize boss but I think you might have overdone it on the Brahmin tranquilizers."

I snickered a little, giving my head a shake. "As I said before my man, she got zapped out there in the storm. Thinkin' it might have addled her brain a bit... little hard to tell. She's a bit of a fruitcake normally anyway."

"How harsh…" Eve moaned, dropping her cheek down against the palm of her hand as though exhausted by the mere act of being draped upon my person. "I prefer to think of myself as a non-secular, lovable retrograde eccentric with some unconventional post-modern leanings and an appreciation for tawdry, Victorian themed romance novels."

If one could ever more precisely prove a point, I'd yet to see it.

"You poor thing," Dom said, speaking up for the first time since we walked in the door. I guess she could see from Eve's expression that the story about the lightning hadn't been false. Or else she just felt sorry for her; having to deal with my endless teasing. "And to be caught out in that terrible radiation storm… you both need warming up now."

"That'd be kind of ya," I said, turning back around to give her a smile and patting Eve's calves. "First though, I don't suppose you've got somethin' you're washin' yourselves in? Camp shower maybe?"

Archie gestured over his shoulder. "Got us one of those solar heated fellas strung up in the bathroom here. Didn't get much sun today though, so it probably ain't too warm."

"Doesn't need to be warm," I said, leaning over to pull the diner door shut behind me. Took a moment to wedge it back into place, given the sinking of the building. "Just gotta get this girl washed clean… you ain't fussy about a cold shower, are ya chicken?"

"Like _fuck_." Eve called back over my shoulder, which finally got a smile out of Dom. "'Sides… these folks probably wanna be using their water themselves… you can't just expect them to waste it on me."

"Oh honey, if you've gotten too much of that water into your skin, you need to get yourself cleaned off quick smart," Dom stated, taking her gun and placing it off by the counter. "We sure don't mind; we already showered today and I think you probably need it more."

"Thanks," I replied, making my way over to one of the few diner seats that wasn't completely trashed and gently easing Eve down onto it. She sighed as she sank back against the foam flecked cushions, rubbing one hand across her forehead, beneath the brim of my hat. "How ya feelin'?" I asked, reaching out to bring the strap of her bag over her head so I could drop her duffel to the floor beside me. I did the same with my own.

"Not too bad, surprisingly. Thought I'd feel worse for being lit up like a Christmas tree," She muttered, resting her cheek against the back of the diner chair. "Skin feels like it's trembling… I've got some spots here and there that are thumping like a son of a bitch. My head's killing me… and my foot feels like it's on fire…"

"Don't lay it on too thick," I teased, unzipping her duffel and rustling about for a bit before pulling out one of the least threadbare towels we had in our possession. Whilst travelling, everyone hauled their own sleeping bag, blanket and towel along with their other required necessities. I had brought along a few extra on this one outing, to save us from having to wash everything before moving to a new location. I took from an inner pocket of the bag a square hessian cloth, which was wrapped tightly around a new bar of soap and two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner. These were considered to be luxury items; requiring importation from Rivet City in DC, where a group of eggheads were able to recreate the formula. Much the same as toothpaste; no one in the greater Boston area had dedicated any time to learning how to create these items. Hadn't had much need of shampoo myself for a good decade now but given my connections, I was able to procure the items with relative ease… Compared with other folks, that is. "We're just gonna pop you into the bathroom now and you can have a good old soak in the shower. Then we'll patch up what we can and get some of those good times into ya. How's that sound?"

"Like a plan I can get behind," Eve said, giving a small smile and a wink of one bleary looking eye. It was twitching a little.

"Atta girl," I said, holding out my fist for her to bump her own against, before dropping the two little bottles of shampoo and conditioner into my jacket pocket. "Now… what do you need me to do? Reckon you can get yourself in there, or do you need a hand?"

Eve gave a low chuckle. "Oh man… there won't be any secrets left between you and I soon." She lifted her head from the back of the diner chair with what appeared to be colossal effort. "If you can just help me in there… we can figure it out from there, I guess. But if it comes down to it, I'll ask that young lady to come and give me a hand… save you from seeing me in the raw."

"Hey, no one's asking you to save me from that." I grumbled, earning a little laugh from her as I tossed the towel onto my shoulder and climbed to my feet; reaching down to slide my hands under her arms. I lifted as gently as I could, trying to gauge if she had any strength at all in her muscles.

Her body trembled; like she had a terrible fever but she was able to walk, albeit with me taking some of her weight off of her legs. We made our way slowly towards the bathroom doors, veering off into the disabled stall, which Dom was holding open for us. Sure enough, the inside had been converted into a makeshift shower room; with the bladder of the camp shower suspended from a hook in the ceiling above the pre-constructed drain on the floor. Two wooden clothes horses perched on opposite sides of the room, drying a number of clothing items. A big tin bucket on the floor still bore the remnants of white bubbles; no doubt where the pair washed their clothes.

"Hold on, I'll get you a chair." Dom murmured as an afterthought, stepping back out in the diner proper and leaving the door to swing shut behind her. I placed the towel onto the sink and pulled my arm around Eve's shoulder tightly, pinning her to my side and giving her bicep a little rub. Trying to be comforting.

"Don't get fresh," Eve muttered from somewhere against my coat. I snorted a laugh, reaching over to pluck my wet hat off of her head; which I tossed over into the bucket, thinking that I would give it a wash if I had the time. It was starting to smell a little funky.

"Girl, if I was gettin' fresh, your knees would be out from under you. Well… more than they are already," I replied, giving the top of her hair a little ruffle to check how wet it was. Some moisture had seeped through the hat unfortunately and the sides of her face were streaked with brown water and grit from having hit the tarmac. She had a nasty graze down her right cheek as well; yet another unwelcome contribution to the wretched tableau of pain etched across her face. "Jesus and I thought you looked like hell before. Keeping you in one piece is turning out to be a full-time job. Didn't think you were such a high maintenance dame when we first met."

"Heh… I'm like a piñata, Hancock." Eve chuckled, tapping the back of her fist against my chest. "The more I'm beaten, the more surprises you'll get out of me."

I raised my brow at her, thinking that this was by far one of the weirdest things I had ever heard her come out with. And that's sure as Hell saying something. "So, what, I beat your ass with a stick and gum drops'll start popping out of ya? Do you even _hear_ the things you say sometimes?" She started laughing at this, finding my exasperation funny I suppose. "You're a fucking mental case and this is coming from the Mayor of a town that specializes in mental cases. God love ya though; you do keep things interesting."

Eve giggled as she wiped some of her hair out of her eyes. "Better than being bored, right?"

"Got that right," I replied, turning to look over my shoulder as the door was pushed open behind me. Dom entered, carrying a steel chair, which she placed beneath the red plastic nozzle of the camp shower. She swiveled the chair a few times to ensure that it wouldn't wobble, I suppose, before then turning back towards us.

"Do you maybe need a hand with… getting her undressed or…are the two of you comfortable if I just leave you to it?" She asked, spinning her fingers in the air towards me, with a very awkward expression on her face that seemed to be silently appealing to me for additional information. With a jolt, it occurred to me that Dom and Archie would not have known for certain just what exactly the relationship between Eve and myself was. I had of course said 'buddy' when introducing her earlier but back when Archie had known me, this word would have meant very little if used in a reference to a woman. There had been a number of women that I had referred to as friends but this did not preclude me from going to bed with them.

I had a momentary, ungentlemanly impulse to mislead Dom as to just how close Eve and I were and piss her off out of the room, but I knew that Eve wouldn't have supported me in this deception. Mainly as it would involve Eve then having to concede to being undressed and showered by me, which I'm certain she would have only permitted if she had been completely crippled and there was no one else around to do it. … Well… with the exception of Deacon or MacCready, that is. I'm certain I would have gotten an invite before those two had the pleasure.

"Actually… it would probably be better if you gave her a hand," I admitted, hoping that my disappointment didn't filter into my voice. Hey, I wouldn't consider myself a pervert but like any hot blooded heterosexual male, I sure as shit didn't much like passing up the chance to clap eyes on a naked woman. Especially one that I genuinely liked and might have had a hand in soaping down to boot. Goddammit… being a gentleman _sucked._

Dom's face relaxed into an expression which I found a little hard to interpret; kind of knowing, with a smile that suggested she might have been warming up to me. Can't say why… guess being a good boy can win points every once in a while. Not that I wanted to make a habit out of being a goody two-shoes if I could help it. How would I ever get any shit done?

"Sure thing. So long as it's all right with you of course, Eve?" Dom asked, kneeling down to try and see into Eve's face.

Eve made an OK sign with her fingers. "Super-duper…"

"Well, let's just get you over to the chair then…" I said, frog marching her over before slowly easing her backside down onto the steel seat top. "Bet that's gonna be cold on your bare ass, Munch. Now, I'll pop outside and get some stuff sorted to treat those wounds. You just call out if you change your mind about having a handsome Ghoul rub soap suds all over you."

Eve gave a low, theatrical sigh. "Oh golly… it'll sure be hard to fight those hormones down, John but I'll do my best." She smiled at me. "Seriously though… thanks for hauling my big butt outta the rain. I owe you, darl."

' _Oh, and wouldn't I love take advantage of_ that _',_ I thought to myself, only to feel immediately ashamed for having entertained the notion, even if it was tongue in cheek. Shit like that was what Vic and his boys had thrived on exploiting all those years they sat in power at Goodneighbor. There was nothing tackier than getting your way by making someone feel as though they were indebted to you.

I forced a smile onto my face, hoping that my self-directed feelings of disgust weren't obvious to the two women. "You don't owe me nothin', kiddo. That's what partners do for each other. Now, you just get washed up and comfy… oh, you'll be needing these." I added, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the shampoo and conditioner, which I passed over into Dom's hand. "Also, I might just go and quickly grab her night-night clothes, so she's got something dry to change into."

Dom's mouth had quirked up into a little smile at the words 'night-night' clothes, though this was honestly not a term that I had come up with. It's what Eve always called bedtime clothing and it had somehow caught on with the few of us who had been travelling together. "That's fine, I'll wait for you to get back before I help her undress."

I nodded and then pushed through the swinging door and back out into the Diner proper. Archie was over in the small kitchenette, humming as he chopped some things with a knife. He waved at me as I trundled back to where I'd set the bags down.

"Just putting some grub together. Comin' up on six now, so I figured you guys would be hungry."

"Well, if you hold off for just a minute, I'll give ya a hand." I called back, kneeling beside Eve's bag and reaching inside to what felt like the softer half of the contents. A few wine bottles clanked together as I moved things around, trying to find her 'nighty-night' clothes. "We've got some meat here that's about to go on the turn if we don't cook it tonight. Could just do up a stew with some vegetables?"

"Sounds good," Archie said, coming around the kitchenette and wiping his hands off on a small rag, which he then tucked back into the pocket of his shirt. "What you got?"

"Um… coupla slices of Radstag… a good cut of Brahmin rump. Kept it in a cooler and salted and wrapped it. Only a day or so old." I saw a familiar flash of white and grabbed a hold of it, yanking out the man's dress shirt, which Eve often wore to bed and finding underneath it the pair of baggy boxers that she most often paired it with. I slung them over my arm, before then unzipping my duffel and reaching inside to extract the cooler. I tossed it to Archie, who caught it between both hands. "Here. Check it out if you like. The Radstag's a little older, so it might be… eh, chancy but you make the call. I trust your judgment."

"Great. Now if only Dom thought the way you did, things would be a hell of a lot easier around here," He muttered, unlatching the clasp on the top of the cooler and peering tentatively inside. He leaned closer to take a sniff of the contents. "Smells okay to me… I'll take a look at it over on the counter."

"Be there in a tick," I said, trekking my way back over to the bathroom and stepping inside. Eve looked about ready to fall asleep in the chair in which she was perched, though she didn't seem to be in much pain, which was good. I handed the shirt and shorts over to Dom. "Here. The promised 'nighty-night' clothes."

"What, no undies?" Eve asked, raising a brow at me. Girl didn't miss a trick, did she? "So I'm gonna be going commando tonight, am I?"

"You're gonna be hopping into bed with a good dose of Med-X and takin' an early one, that's what you're gonna to be doing." I snapped, giving her what I took to be a rather serious frown, which I don't think she bought for a second. "Besides, you only had one clean pair of underpants left and I'm wearing those."

Eve burst out laughing at this, shaking her head from side to side as she muttered, 'Oh man' into the side of the aluminum chair. Even Dom chuckled, though I'm not certain whether she knew that I was joking or not. Oh well, even funnier to keep 'em guessing.

"Oh, for fucks sake," Eve finally chuckled, looking over at me with an appreciative expression. "That why you've been running funny all day? Riding up a bit, were they?"

"You ain't half kidding. It was that skimpy little black number you know I like… think most of its disappeared up my ass now," I said, reaching behind and pretending to adjust the seat of my pants. "Guess that's what I get for thinkin' lace would be comfortable."

Eve wrinkled her nose up at me, still laughing as she said, "Fucking ew, Hancock. I can't tell if you're kidding or not! And if you're not, you can damn well keep those knickers now because I'm sure as shit not putting them on again."

I gave her a wink as I turned to leave the room. "Just a joke kiddo. You know I don't wear underwear." This made Dom burst out laughing again, though she attempted to mold her expression into some semblance of control shortly thereafter. I gathered that I may have won a few more points with her, which couldn't hurt if we hoped to bunk down there for a while.

I left them to it and made my way back into the diner proper to arrange some supplies to treat Eve's wounds. Archie was jigging away to the radio as he sliced the Radstag fillet I'd offered him into thick cubes.

Despite Archie stating that they were on the move, I got the impression that he and Dom had settled in for the long haul; given the time they had clearly invested in the rest stop. The diner set up was relatively simple but geared towards maintaining long term productiveness. I could hear a distant hum coming from behind the kitchenette wall, the character call of a makeshift generator. Sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed when I spotted the steel wire threaded through a number of coils across the roof, connecting to a port on the side of the stove. Made more sense to power the cooking station than to filter electricity into the diner lighting and risk being spotted by Raiders and other predators. I didn't spot a fireplace or anything that they might have used to provide heating; not that the weather had been particularly cold lately but it was still a heck of a gamble if you were bunked down as long as they clearly had been.

"How are you guys keeping warm?" I asked, kneeling beside my bag and taking out in turn a smaller satchel, in which I kept my chems.

Archie chuckled from over in the kitchen. "How do you think?" He said, giving a cheeky little chirp of his cheek so I couldn't miss his meaning. Then he laughed. "We gots a portable heater I made up from spare parts. If it gets too cold, we divert the power from the stove top into the heater. Set it up in the back room, grab a couple of blankets and curl up close with a good bevvy…"

"Sounds brilliant," I said genuinely, thinking I would pull out my back molars with my bare hand if I could have spent the rest of the night this way. Curled up with Eve that is, not with Archie and Dom, though I was so bone tired I don't suppose I would have known just _who_ I was spooning. Hell, I'd once rolled over and spooned MacCready of all people. Which would have been a lot easier to have moved on from, if he hadn't rolled over and returned the snuggle. Not sure who screamed louder when we both woke up.

"Heh, didn't think I'd ever see the day when you of all people thought a _cuddle_ was the way to go." Archie stated and I could hear a smile in his voice. Christ, had I really become so transparent? "Seeing you burst out of the Wasteland with some blonde over your shoulder, now that… _that's_ the Hancock I remember. But going and leaving a dame in the bathroom for _my_ missus to undress and wash? I'm thinkin' you've either lost your moxie or… this one might be a little more special than all the fifteen hundred others?"

" _Fifteen hundred others_ …" I repeated sarcastically, shifting through my chems until I unearthed one of the soft bladders containing the Rad-Away formula. I tugged this out by the dissemination cord and placed it off to the side, fishing out the small yellow container I kept needle heads in and a Med-kit. "That's a gross over estimation buddy and you know it. I've been with a perfectly acceptable number of women; no more than your average-"

"Prostitute?" Archie cut in and I looked up in time to see him suck his lips back against his teeth, clearly wishing he hadn't used the word. Prostitution had once been very big business in Goodneighbor; before I had taken over of course and the exploitation that came about as a result of it was horrendous. Archie knew this very well, as he had been living in the town at the time. "Jesus… sorry, man. Wasn't thinkin'."

I shrugged, not taking it to heart. It was a sign of how the times had changed, that we had the luxury of a slip of the tongue here and there.

"Don't sweat it. You didn't mean nothing by it." I held up the Rad-Away bladder for him to see. "Any nails in the wall or something I could hang this off? Munch'll be needing a good dose to flush the radiation out of her system."

Archie fumbled his knife at this and it clattered heavily onto the floor before he was able to retrieve it. He raised his head above the bench top, laughing as he gave me a look which suggested I ought to have known better.

"What? You _seriously_ call her _Munch_?" He cackled, giving the knife a wipe over before placing it back on the bench top. He ducked out of sight again and then emerged with a tool kit, which he carried out into the diner and set on top of one of the more sturdy tables. "I'm guessing she doesn't know what that means exactly?"

I gave a shrug. "If someone's told her, she doesn't seem to mind. It's just kinda stuck, you know?"

"Seems a bit fuckin' mean," Archie replied but his smile didn't drop so much as an inch. He flipped open the clasp of the toolbox and pulled out a hammer and a couple of nails. "Here. I'll just pound one of these bad boys into place above that dinner seat by the kitchen. She'll be able to sit there for a while and let the drip do its stuff. Wont' be visible from the doorway either, so she should be safe if anyone rolls up and tries to cause problems."

"Cheers man," I said, reaching over to scoop up my supplies, which I carried over to dump on the designated table top. Archie set to work, banging the nail into the wall, after I had indicated what height it needed to be by holding up the length of dissemination cord as a reference. Whilst he finished the job, I returned to the duffle bags and zipped them up. But not before first removing a bottle of wine and a bottle of scotch, which I placed on the table with the aluminum cups that Eve and I used when we were throwing back a drink. It was the sight of the alcohol, I think, that reminded me of the time. Or, more importantly, what it was time to do.

Up until now I had been keeping busy with the jobs that I needed to do but as my tasks ran dry, I became uncomfortably aware of the tight, sickly feeling in my chest and the itchiness that had taken hold in the center of my palms. I scratched a little, knowing that it wouldn't help but trying all the same to alleviate the discomfort. I didn't wear a watch, normally keeping track of the time on Eve's Pip-boy, but she had taken this into the bathroom with her. Based on what Archie had said, it was a little after six, which meant that the Chems in my system had stopped working about an hour ago. It also meant that I was well overdue for a smoke, which would explain the tight anxious feeling in my chest.

Shit… this annoyed me. Not the smoking itself, I mean not many folks I knew were abstinent from _that_ particular vice. It was feeling as though I _needed_ to take Chems, which pissed me off. I mean, clearly I enjoyed them, otherwise why would I have taken them? But I sure as shit didn't need them to be running my life; not when I had a shit ton of responsibility to deal with. Addiction was the end game when it came to Chems; it led to folks doing questionable, messed up shit just to get a fix. And I mean messed up, like stealing from your mother messed up, not feeding your family messed up, joining up with a Raider gang and killing other people for all their caps and belongings messed up.

That little itch, meagre though it was compared to other withdrawal symptoms was always my first warning sign that my little chemical friends were starting to get on top of me. And that crap just would not do.

"Addictol," I muttered to myself, digging my fingers back into my Chem bag and searching for the red Jet like canister which contained the chemical cleansing agent. My mouth flooded with saliva as my eyes locked on the satisfying array of drugs at my disposal but I fought the temptation and pushed them aside, continuing my search.

It was always best to keep a balance with these things. Far be it from me to judge, I considered myself however to be a recreational user, as opposed to an addict. The one thing I did take regularly was Mentats, in order to keep myself focused whilst travelling around the Wasteland. I also smoked Chark every day; one in the morning usually and one at night to help me relax. And of course, I powered the cigarettes back whenever there was a quiet moment.

I liked to use Chems to have a good time; I certainly wasn't interested in having them fry my brain and leave me a dribbling, incontinent mess for the rest of my days. Well… not anymore anyway. I had shit I wanted to stick around for now. I couldn't just keep going on the way that I had; taking things willy nilly and dealing with the consequences later. Once upon a time, it mattered Sting Wings balls if I up and shorted out at the end of a weeks' binge but now… now life was providing some unenhanced enjoyment all of its own. And for the first time ever, I actually wanted to stick around and be part of that. Which meant taking care of my own damn self every once in a while.

I found the Addictol finally, which had a scant strip of tape stuck to the side with the name almost invisible as it had been damaged from near constant rubbing within the bag. They really needed to stop producing this shit in the same fucking canister they used for Jet; what was that anyway? Some kind of weird self-defeating Russian Roulette crap?

I sighed to myself as I twisted the white cap from the canister and gave it a shake before bringing it between my lips. I let all my air out so that my lungs completely emptied, before tilting my head back and breathing in as I dispensed two sharp sprays towards the back of my throat. I repeated this a further three times; the standard amount required for rewiring your brain and then sat my ass down on the dinner seat, leaning my elbows on my knees and keeping my head down; waiting for the dizzy spells to pass.

Archie gave me a pat on the back as he passed, having finished driving the nail into the wall probably a good minute ago. I guess he was waiting to see if I was going to offer him a huff from the canister but he must have realized that it wasn't Jet after all. Only a fucking moron or a Raider would take four huffs of Jet in one sitting; the high would just about blow your head off and Devils luck if you were able to sleep for the next week.

"Staying on top of it then?" Archie asked, leaning against the tabletop opposite me as he rustled in his shirt pocket. He offered me a cigarette from the pack he extracted and I took it with trembling fingers. Addictol always gave you the shakes something fierce. I didn't light up right away; my head still dizzy and fuzzy from the drug doing its fierce work on the receptors in my brain. In hindsight, it didn't take long to deal with the bare beginnings of an addiction; a generous five minutes at most, but it was a shithouse nauseating experience all the same. Can't say it's the worst fallout I'd ever had from a drug, with myself being the unquestionable living poster child for, ' _Just saying no'_.

"Yep," I responded, flinching my eyes shut as I glanced up at him and finding that even this was too bold a move; my head throbbing angrily in protest. "Don't need any of that shit telling me when to take it." I gestured to the Scotch bottle with the Addictol canister before I capped it and tossed it into my bag. "Fancy a drink, brother?"

"Won't say no," He said, shifting back onto his feet and heading into the kitchen. He reappeared with two relatively clean glasses into which he poured a generous nip of the scotch. Much in my own taste, he didn't add any water or Nuka cola and simply went for it straight. He placed one glass down next to me, after I indicated that I didn't want to take it right then and there before returning to his previous position opposite me.

"Cheers," He said, raising the glass before tipping the contents back into his mouth in one committed slosh. I had to chuckle, musing to myself about how some things never changed. Man still drank like an impatient teenager who thought someone might take it off of him if he wasn't fast enough.

My head was starting to feel a little better so I took a tentative sip of my own. Encouraged by the fact that my eyes didn't explode out of my head, I chanced another before then lighting up my cigarette. Archie tossed an ashtray over onto the table beside me before firing up his own.

"Damn, that shit is a lot smoother than what we've been getting out here," He said, staring into the bottom of the glass and licking his lips wistfully. "If you go and tell me that old Whitechapel Chuck has rerouted his circuits and come out as a certified brewer bot, I'm gonna be packing my shit right now and heading back to Goodneighbor."

I smiled as I picked up the Scotch bottle and leaned over to slosh another good nip into the bottom of his glass. "Close but no dice. Got us a little brewing bot shacked up in the Hotel Rexford. We just plug in the ingredients, bang in a Holotape with the recipe and he brews the stuff up in his tank."

Archie's jaw damn near fell off his face at this and I imagine he might have dropped his glass if he didn't value the contents so highly. "Blow me down and call me your funny Uncle. You fucking _serious?!_ After drinking that god-awful slop Chuck overcharged us for, which tasted like it was strained from the inside of a Molerat mind you, you now go and grab some newfangled bot which makes delicious shit, just as soon as I leave town?! What's up with that, man?"

I quirked my brow at him. "Hey; let's not forget that you left town over four years ago, son. Only got the bot a coupla months back. In fact, we got my cute little kidnap victim to thank for it." I smiled and gestured over my shoulder at the shower room. I could hear the gentle splash of water coming from inside, which meant that Eve was now getting her wash.

Archie shook his head, seemingly in mirth as he took a measured sip now from his glass; treasuring it accordingly. "I don't know, Hancock… I'm having a hard time getting my head around all this. You managing your Chem use responsibly, Goodneighbor serving half decent booze, the fact you're not fucking some girl you're running around with… Starting to think that _I'm_ the one who needs to lay off the Jet for a while. If Dom let me take it any anymore, that is."

"Well, we're all getting older," I said, which was a poor explanation but no less true for what it lacked in substance. "No one tells you just how much of a difference there is between twenty-seven and thirty-seven, but your priorities do tend to shift a fuckload, don't they?"

"Speak for yourself," Archie said, snorting disdainfully from his nasal cavity. "I've only just hit twenty-eight, dude, I'm not an old fuckin' fart like _you._ And besides, being older can make ya wiser and shit and sure it can help you make smarter decisions and slow you down, but none of that is what makes you up and take stock. It's meeting the _right person_." He gestured with his smoke towards the bathroom door. "'Fore I met Dom, I figured life was just good and dandy the way it was. I wasn't unhappy and I didn't think nothing was missing. But then she walks into my life and it's like… I don't know…" He mused for a moment before using both hands to make a square shape in front of him. "Like I had this big old jigsaw puzzle, right in front of me. And I had it all put together, all the pieces so it made sense. All except one." He raised a solitary finger. "One little piece that might be… I don't know, right in the top corner or something. Didn't seem like it really mattered; after all, I could see what the picture was supposed to be. But it was never, ever really complete. And that's what Dom was for me." He gave me a big old smile at this and I could see beyond any doubt just how much love he had for this woman. "She was that little missing piece. And what I realized, is that even though I could see the picture, that one missing piece had something really important on it, which changed the whole scene into something better. Like the sun coming in through the corner of a window or something. It just made the whole thing come together. And all that other stuff I was doing before she gave me that little missing piece… it wasn't that it _wasn't_ important, but from then on out I wanted to make sure that everything I did, every decision I made, was for the sake of us being together and safe and as happy as a coupla Mirelurks in a sewer drain."

I laughed at this, though in truth I was a little blown away by how passionately he had spoken of his feelings. Folks in Goodneighbor lived a pretty tough life and a certain amount of cynicism was integral to sustaining your longevity in our world, which meant you didn't talk much about romance and mushy things. Well not at least in an overly eloquent metaphorical sense like Archie had just done.

"Guess it's true; a man's greatest weakness and greatest enemy will always be the woman he loves," I said, getting caught up in the tenderness of the moment as I took another gulp from my scotch, draining it in the process. I was starting to feel a little softer around the edges and a hell of a lot more relaxed.

Archie gave me the same knowing look that Dom had in the shower room and I wondered whether this was standard for long-term couples; to start unconsciously mimicking one other.

"Better be careful no one realizes you're walking around with your Achilles tendon right out in the open," He stated, peering at me from beneath his brows in a provocative manner. I returned an expression that I hope fully conveyed just how annoyed I was with him and refilled my glass; taking another, probably slightly too generous gulp.

"That obvious, huh?" I asked, thinking all the while what a painfully pointless question this was. It wasn't difficult to see that I had feelings for Eve; feelings that went beyond the standard physical allure, that is. Which is a hell of an admission; given the potency of this physical 'allure' and just how very difficult it has been to keep my simmering desires from boiling over with each passing day.

Eve was a striking woman, physically, mentally and emotionally. I ached to occupy a place in gentle, loving heart; just as earnestly as I wished to capture her lips with the passion of my kisses and confine myself within the sweet, intimate grip of her body. Even now, I still find it difficult to reconcile the meeting of these two unfamiliar states; that of emotional love and physical desire. One which I understood a whole hell of a lot better than the other, that's for sure. Or at least one that I had a great deal more experience with.

Past-Hancock didn't seem nearly so concerned with sorting this shit out as I did. Instead, he seemed content to amuse himself with some rather sexy internalizations in the interim; a bleed through which could be fucking distracting at the best of times and which Dr. Amari was still working on trying to eradicate. It was particularly unhelpful, given that past Hancock was dedicating a decent portion of his brain now to visualizing Eve in the shower and this was a considerably distracting thing, since I myself wanted no part in having to try and force the fantasy away. Not that I tried very hard, mind you.

Hey, given that I was a man with a once very healthy sex life, which I had shelved in favour of hoofing around the Wasteland with a woman whose life circumstances almost seemed geared towards redirecting her from taking part in any carnal exchanges in the near future, I'm not sure who could judge me for having the occasional impure thought. I mean, you try watching someone that you fancy run along in front of you all day, pretty much shaking their ass in your face for ten hours straight and then try to go to bed without weeping into your pillow. These… semi-occasional wicked little indulgences were the only things which kept me from throwing all my belongings onto the ground some days and screaming like a tired, unfed toddler.

Goddammit, I needed to refocus my attentions. The doc had always warned me about being sucked in by the internalizations of your past self; it was a dangerous paradox apparently, where a client is reliving the thoughts or memories of their past self, wherein they are also experiencing the past through their past self. It could drag you in too deep if you let it and cause some serious problems, which often led to the aborting of the session to prevent you from interring yourself too deeply. Kent was a classic example of this.

I don't think the good doctor factored soapy breasts into any of her equations, however. I tried refocusing my attention to the conversation past Hancock was having with Archie (just HOW I could converse with _anyone_ whilst having such a dirty daydream was kind of impressive really) but the content of the discussion was nowhere near stimulating enough to convince me of the merit of the exchange rate. The little snippet I got, revealed that we were blathering on about kids; Archie wasn't able to have any of his own, being a Ghoul and as such sterile but they were thinking they could adopt because there were plenty of kids in the Wasteland without parents – blah, blah-de-blah-blah.

Meanwhile, Past-Hancock was proving just how good of a friend he was by pretending to listen, as he in turn imagined cupping Eve's soapy breast from behind, squeezing and listening to her moan as he thrust up inside, hearing her toes sliding across the wet floor as she took him all in.

I figured the only course of action was to skip forward, which was a shame, as I had been enjoying the fantasy itself but I was running the risk of getting Entrenched and that was a risky game just for the sake of some illusory soap slicked boobs.

I focused on skipping ahead a good hour and I saw the scene before the eyes of past-Hancock blur as everything sped up. I saw Dom and Eve emerge from the bathroom; Eve now dressed in her 'nighty-night' clothes and unsupported, though still as pale as her tan skin permitted. I saw Dom giving Archie a good smack, because he had neglected making dinner in favor of making merry with me and he was quickly hustled back to the kitchen. I saw myself swapping places with Eve and getting her to sit down, whilst I secured the Rad Away bladder on the nail on the wall and affixed a clean needle to the dissemination cord.

I saw Eve acting a big fucking girls blouse, because she was scared of needles and watched myself pouring her a cup of wine, which she gulped at like an addict to try and calm herself down. I saw Archie chopping vegetables dutifully, looking both contented and slightly guilty and I saw Dom shaking her head at him but also smiling, as if to say, ' _He'll never change but I still love him anyway'_. I felt that Past-Hancock was reassured by this; that it gave him a little jolt of hope.

I saw as Past-Hancock tied a tourniquet around Eve's arm and got her to pumping her fist a few times, checking with his fingers to try and bring up a vein on her inside arm. (Unlike other Intravenous fluids, Rad-Away didn't necessarily need to be applied through the back of the hand and based on Eve's past reactions to having received the treatment, I didn't feel like trying it again). I heard that Eve was whimpering and saw that she was looking away, jittering her legs up and down like a kid that needed to go to the toilet. Woman would never have to worry about being a junkie; she'd never be able to stick herself enough to get addicted.

Past-Hancock finally found a good vein and gently slid the needle in. He was experienced enough to get it right the first time and I know he would have been comforting and encouraging but it never made any difference to someone with a needle phobia. Once it was in however, Eve relaxed, because it was just the initial sting that always freaked her out. She continued to look in the other direction though, as Past-Hancock taped the needle into place and adjusted the tiny valve on the top of the disseminating cord; where it met the Rad Away bladder. This allowed the regulated stream of the formula to start steadily flowing down into the vein in Eve's arm; eradicating the radiation in her system.

The scene blurred on, with Eve sitting impatiently, sipping at her little cup of wine whilst Past-Hancock attempted to make amends for leading Archie astray by helping out in the kitchen. Past-Eve was astonished to see Past-Hancock offer to cook anything, as she knew first hand that he hated mucking around in the kitchen/cooking stations/camp fires/taking plastic off of something and heating it up but he pretended like he had no idea what she was talking about.

We managed to make a stew, which was surprisingly edible. Eve had finished up with her treatment by that point and after receiving an additional shot of Med-X was able to sit down with the rest of them to eat and share a drink. The radiation storm outside still showed no signs of ebbing, though it was so dark that only the flashes of occasional lightning were able to illuminate the world beyond. It was like the Diner itself had been suspended in some no man's space, where nothing else existed past the doorways and windows. It might have been scary to think of it as such but I found it strangely comforting. As though we had some unspoken permission to switch off from all responsibility for this one night. After all, it wasn't like we could go anywhere.

I let the memory skim forward further still. Past-Hancock helped Eve to check over some of her wounds; her arm had a few bruises from where the dog had bitten her and the scratches on her cheek were superficial. She had a raw, circular sore on the bottom of her foot from where the lightening had travelled up through the bottom of her boot. Past-Hancock put some cream on this that would help to soothe it and wrapped it with a compression bandage, so that the sore wouldn't rub against anything and further aggravate it.

Past-Hancock thought Eve looked very tired. He felt like holding her while she fell asleep. He was surprised by these feelings; about how tender he felt towards her, especially when he had only just entertained such lewd fantasies. He felt a little ashamed. Though not much. It was a pretty sexy fantasy after all.

Eve tried to help with the dishes but Past-Hancock wouldn't have a bar of it. He took their sleeping bags and blankets into one of the adjacent storage rooms that Archie and Dom weren't using and made up their beds in there, trying to direct her into laying down. Dom supplied them with a couple of plump, spare pillows which was a real novelty. Eve finally, grudgingly conceded to getting into bed, though she blinked wide eyed at him almost defiantly from her pillow as he closed the door and left her in the darkness of the supply closet. She did often have a great deal of trouble switching her brain off of a night, Past-Hancock remembered. Plus, she hated feeling like she was missing out on anything and right now, he Dom and Archie were enjoying having a few drinks together, smoking and chilling out whilst they finished washing the few dishes they had dirtied. Eve hated missing a good time.

I skipped forward through this, trying to make it go faster. I enjoyed the time I had spent with Dom and Archie, but I had chosen this memory because I wanted to see Eve and relive my time with her, not because I needed another evening of me drinking and shooting the breeze with folks. Could live that one any good night of the week.

Soon enough, the drinking and joke telling festivities came to an end and Archie and Dom trundled off to bed; Archie mugging and cheering that he was 'Gonna have some messed up shit done to him that night', which earned him a smack on the backside which served as a sort of confirmation really.

Past-Hancock left what remained of the Scotch under the counter for Dom and Archie to finish off and added a second as a way of saying thank you for their hospitality. Wow, that was generous even for me. I must have knocked back more than I thought. I gave the glasses a quick rinse before blowing out the lantern and then toddling my way over to the storage closet, to find Eve still lying there awake and looking very bored with having to rest up. I think she might have been playing a game on her Pip-Boy, which she switched off and set to the side when I entered the room, focusing on me instead.

I slowed the memory down at this juncture, taking her in with appreciation as she sat up in the little makeshift bed and looked at me forlornly, like a pup that had been left at home. I wondered if the bed was uncomfortable; it was the best I had to offer with our limited supplies and I had used her sleeping bag and some spare towels to make a sort of mattress, whilst pulling a few blankets up over her.

But she didn't look uncomfortable; just restless.

"Hey Munch, you okay? You're not still in pain, are ya?" I asked, thinking of how fresh faced she looked without all her makeup. She still had the little black flecks about her eyes; these had been tattooed on as a gift from her husband for her twenty-first birthday, she had told me but the rest of her face was smooth and clean, with no long, black eyelashes, dark lipstick, eyeliner or… god knows whatever else she paints herself with before going into 'battle'.

It made her look younger actually; kind of more, childlike or something, I don't know. Which couldn't hurt I suppose, given that she had turned twenty-nine a month or two ago. Though I, in fact, actually loved that she looked her age. I wasn't at all into that 'little girl' look, preferring a woman who actually looked like a woman. Eve very much looked as though she had been through life and had seen some shit; though still cared enough to make some effort with her appearance.

She sat up on the 'bed', crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees, puffing air out in a bored sort of fashion. I'm not sure if I had been consciously doing it in the past (probably) but my present self was definitely taking a good look at the front of her shirt; very aware of the bareness of her breasts beneath. The shirt was loose however and didn't hug them and the material was thick enough to obscure anything that might have otherwise been visible. I gave an internal little sigh of my own, which almost matched Eve's for being annoyed.

"I'm okay… just can't sleep. Got all this shit just going around and around in my head like per usual." She grumbled, drumming her fingers impatiently on her leg before then pushing herself onto her feet with an unsteady waver; like a Radstag yearling, just born. I moved forward to support her, cinching my arm around her shoulders and taking her wrist gently with my spare hand. "Cheers. Look, I am _dying_ for a smoke and I sure as hell don't wanna light up in here. Mind taking me out there, near one of the windows?"

"Sure thing," I replied, loosening my hold on her arm for a moment so that I could open the storeroom door again. I kept it propped with my shoulder as I steered Eve out into the diner, letting it swing shut behind us as soon as we were free. "I'll grab ya another cup of wine as well. Might help relax you a bit. 'Less of course I can't tempt you with something from my little bag of tricks? Still got some of those Daytripper's you like."

She laughed a little; though she didn't sound condescending or dissuasive really, just not entirely interested. "Thankyou darling but I'll say no, right now. I'll take that glass of wine, though… or the bottle if you don't mind bringing it over."

"Will do," I said with a chuckle, taking a deep whiff to fully appreciate the clean, flowery scent of Eve's hair. A Ghoul's sense of smell was always a lot more sensitive, on account that we no longer possessed the nose cartilage which helped to filter odors. This could be a double-edged sword, since nice smells could be enjoyed all the more, whilst really bad smells pretty much assaulted you without the decency of forewarning you. And let me tell ya; there's definitely a lot more musk in the Commonwealth than there are perfumes.

I placed Eve down so that she could rest against the back of one of the chairs by a window that bordered what had once been the carpark. Sitting up at the table itself could be risky if someone decided to take pot shots at it, so the floor it would have to be. I grabbed one of the ash trays off of the table and placed it near her bare feet before heading back over to where I'd left my chems and reefing up the still mostly full bottle of wine and Eve's long abandoned cup.

"Not gonna join me?" Eve asked as I plonked myself down rather inelegantly opposite her and topped her mug up with the white wine she was so partial to. I screwed what was left of my own nose up in response.

"Had a little bit already and if I keep goin', I'll probably be useless tomorrow," I said, screwing the top back on the wine before reaching then into my pocket and taking out my cigarettes. I passed one to Eve and used a match to light it for her as she held it firm between her lips. "Besides… you know I ain't the biggest fan of the old vino. But I'll have a chuff with ya."

Eve nodded, watching with some interest as I put the cigarette packet away and instead pulled out a small leather pouch, which used to belong to my father before he passed away. It was one of the few possessions I had of his, though I'm not sure he would have been entirely impressed if he knew that I kept my little supply of Chark in it; mixed in with fluffy shreds of tobacco. I smiled to myself, imagining the disapproving look on his face as I got my wrappers and filters out and pinched some of the blend between my fingers. I was a deft hand at rolling a joint; something I could just about do in my sleep really, though Eve seemed to think that anyone rolling their own cigarette was inherently fascinating. She watched, her large eyes perpetually curious as I twisted the little parcel together and licked the edges of the paper so they would stick together. The act complete, I popped the rollie between my lips and used a match to light the end, taking a deep drag in.

The feeling of relief was almost immediate; all the muscles in my body felt to unclench in unison and my brain felt a little less sore and foggy. Chark was one of the few, really relaxing Chems you could take in the Commonwealth, though not many people tended to smoke it surprisingly. When I had been young, the idea was to keep the party going as long as possible, rather than try and wind down and go to sleep. Now that I was older, I appreciated the feeling Chark gave in helping me to unwind and ease the aches and pains my body had from all the travelling around.

"Feel better?" Eve said, with a knowing smile. I gave her a wink.

"You know it, kid." I said, offering it to her. She wasn't much of a Chem head herself, though would use them if we were having a little party or had no other major agenda to run to. I guess on this occasion she figured that she could use some help getting to sleep and plucked the joint out of my hand; pulling back for a minute and trying to hold the smoke in her lungs long enough for the effect to take place. Some of the smoke dribbled out of her nose as she passed the rollie back to me, exhaling slowly like a sleeping dragon expunging his fumes.

"My mother would be so disappointed," She said, taking another sip of her wine before resting her head against the seat behind her. I popped the rollie back between my own lips, thinking offhand how her own had just been wrapped around the filter. It was a thought that a teenager might have but I relished this closeness. I wish I'd been man enough to have kissed her a long time ago.

"Let me see your foot," I asked, shuffling around so that my back was to the wall under the window and indicating for her to bring her feet down onto my thighs. She did so and I inspected the bandage around her foot, finding no blood had seeped through. "Looks okay… might put some fresh cream on it in the morning." I gave her un-bandaged foot a bit of a rub, which earned a contented moan from her, before running my hand up her shin towards her knee. Her legs were bristly, from not having shaved them recently. "Jesus Christ, woman, you might have shaved while you were in the shower. It's like patting a fucking Bloatfly."

Eve burst out laughing and then quickly slapped a hand to her mouth to keep from waking Dom and Archie up. When she was able to pull herself together, she put her cup of wine down just so she could punch me in the shoulder.

"Shut the fuck _up_!" She hissed, though her grin betrayed just how angry she actually was. "I broke my fucking razor the last settlement we stayed in and I haven't been to a shop since then to replace it! Just because _you_ don't have an inch of hair on your body and you're insane with jealousy because you're _bald_."

"Is it the same under your arms?" I questioned, ignoring her jab as I used my finger to try and pull her sleeve away, so I could peer up into her armpit.

"None of your business," She snapped, tugging her arm away. "But yes."

This earned a laugh from me now and I'm quite certain we may not have laughed so hard if there hadn't been a few drinks and some Chark involved but it felt nice all the same. We had always enjoyed each other's company. And it was pretty rare to find a woman who was so unashamed of being seen in a flawed or humorous light. Thank God she didn't take herself seriously.

"Why the hell do you wanna be touching up my legs anyway?" She asked once the laughter had finally died off. "No one asked you to fucking groom me," She added, reaching out with her leg to try to rub it on the front of my face. I pushed it back down into my lap.

"Jesus, be careful. You'll put my eyes out with those barbs," I said, earning another mock offended expression from her. "And I wouldn't be taking a run at those legs without a gardeners ho and a good solid rake."

"Oh my God, _fuck. You._ " She enunciated, still laughing as she leaned back against the diner chair and reclaimed her cup of wine. She chugged some back before puffing her cigarette, the smile still on her face as I gave her uninjured foot another caress. We were quiet together for a while and I started thinking that I might just nod off then and there, when Eve asked in a now serious tone; "Do you reckon it's going to work? The teleporter I mean?"

I exhaled a breath of chemical smoke and gave her a smile that took no effort in conveying my feelings on the matter. "If you've got anything to do with it, I _know_ it'll work. Otherwise, I'm betting you'll tunnel yourself into the Institute with your bare hands."

Eve laughed softly, tilting her cup from side to side and watching the liquid as it moved around the interior. "Not so sure my nails are up to the task… what's left of them anyway."

I knew the tell-tale signs that Eve let slip when she was sinking into one of her low moods and this strained smile she now wore, coupled with the lack of eye contact left little doubt in my mind that things were ticking over in her head. Keeping busy was her way of keeping unwanted thoughts at bay, but being forced to slow down on account of the storm and then to rest up after being electrocuted had only allowed time for that window in her mind to crank open.

Negative thoughts seeped in slowly with Eve but they bled through all the same. And I didn't see her cry much but I had heard her a few nights when she thought that everyone else had gone to sleep. I hadn't been sure what to do; trying to comfort her might have backfired spectacularly, since the things that she was grieving for were so deeply personal they were clearly not intended to be witnessed by others. But not doing anything made me feel a bit of a heartless asshole. So, like a coward, I'd done nothing and went on pretending like I had no idea of just how heavy her grief actually was.

But goddamn it if I was going to let things continue on in that vein. Especially when her sadness was ebbing through before my very eyes and my own chest was aching to see someone that I cared about so deeply in pain.

"Hey, don't go getting despondent now." I said, reaching over and setting my hand firmly over the back of her own. This was always a gamble when you were a Ghoul, as some folks got pretty peaky just by being in the same room as us Rad freaks, let alone being touched by one. But Eve and I had touched more times than I could count. And her reaction, from what I could recall, had never been to pull away, flinch or make a face, so I can't imagine she was too distressed by the oddness of my flesh. "Come hell or high-water Munch, you're gonna crack that big tin."

It must have been just the right combination of firm encouragement and physical comfort, because Eve actually looked a little cheered up by this; meeting my eyes with a tired sort of gratitude.

"You think so?"

"I know so." I said, reaching up to cluck her on the chin with my thumb and finger. "I know _you_ , sister. Ain't nothing can stand in your way when you've half a mind to plough through 'em."

She pulled a face at me and laughed, looking for the world as though I'd told a witty but implausible joke. "Oh, get the fuck out. Darl, I would never have gotten this far if it hadn't been for all you lot throwing in and helping to drag my butt around the Wasteland. I'd probably still be back in Concord right now, pitching fits and running in circles, hollerin' like a crazy woman."

"And that's different from right now, how…?" I joked, earning a half-hearted punch in the arm in response. "Don't go getting caught up in that self-defeating bullshit, Munch. You got a lot further than Concord on just your own determination and you know it. The rest of us… we just got swept up with your current. Which is a fucking relief mind because it's been a gas and a half."

Eve shrugged as she sipped from her wine and took another puff of her cigarette. Her eyes were starting to sink into half-mast by this stage, which hopefully meant that she would be able to go to sleep soon and rest up. "Well, you can't go undermining just what you guys have done for me too, you know. You've all been… fucking incredible. Putting your lives on hold just to help me… whatever you wanna say about the harshness of the world today, I _never_ would have met such… selfless people two hundred years ago." She gave one of her big, nose scrunching smiles at this and raised her glass as though proposing a toast. "You guys kick serious ass."

"Well, there's no disputing _that_. And I can't speak for the others but personally… I kinda think my life _was_ on hold until I met you." It was a hell of an admission; almost a little too revealing and I tried to construct some sort of distraction in the wake of it by taking up the wine bottle, unscrewing the cap and sloshing back a bit of the tart liquid. _Bleuch…_ Even in the memory I couldn't convince myself that I liked the taste, though the product brewed up by the Drinking Buddy was a damn sight better than the crap you found lying around the wastes. Plus, a bit of liquid courage couldn't hurt none.

Past-me seemed to be thinking the same thing and took another gulp, trying to pretend like he didn't see Eve getting all ticked off that he was stealing her liquor. My head felt a little warmer and lighter for the few gulps mixing in with the Chark and I reached over to top up her glass again, adding with some newly acquired assurance, " _Sometimes_ I feel like I was just waiting for someone like you to blow on into my world and shake things up a bit."

Eve chuckled softly under her breath, holding up a finger to stop me from pouring too much into her glass. Shit, it was nearly spilling out over the top. Looked like I was pulling a bad third-date trick on her. She didn't say anything about me having slurped from the same bottle either; as we often shared cigarettes and bottles, to the end result that we had likely transferred more saliva between us than most married couples. "Oh, you poor dear. Been a hell of a bumpy ride, hasn't it?"

"Poor nothing." I said, my tone as serious as I had ever heard it. "I've loved every minute of it. Even the parts I hated."

"Heh… bet you say that to _all_ the girls." Eve mumbled, slurring her words a little. Can't have been the wine, as she had barely imbibed her usual standard; girl could recite complex tongue twisters on a full bottle. The Chark must have been working on her something fierce. I made a point not to offer her another drag, as she wasn't as used to it as I was. Other people's tolerances were not an easy thing for me to gauge, it having been so long since I myself had been a rookie in the field of Chem experimentation.

"Seriously though…" I murmured, using my thumb to rub a circle into the ball of her foot, hoping it might help ease her towards having a nod soon. "You thought about what you wanna do once you get the kid back?"

She smiled, though whether from what I had just said or the fact that I was massaging her foot I can't entirely tell. "You never doubt for a second, do you?"

"Not a one." I said, shaking my head as I pulled in another drag of smoke and let it sit in my lungs for a bit before puffing it back out. I was feeling so breezy and loose by that stage; distant from every ache and pain in my tired, torn up old body. "Not when it comes to you. So… what are the big 'long term' plans?"

Eve sighed, taping the ash from her cigarette into the tray provided before setting the filter back to the corner of her lips thoughtfully. "Hard to say… I mean, I have thought about it, of course. But I haven't really been able to settle on anything. Figured we might just trek out to one of the settlements in the far reaches and… I don't know, work to farm the land or something."

I wasn't aware of much in my body at that stage but I was very conscious of the fact that I was pulling a face. " _Farm the land_? You wanna spend the rest of your life raising your kid and _farming the land?_ Do you actually _like_ the smell of Brahmin shit in the morning, or what?"

"This from the guy who sucks on Jet like it's going out of fashion," Eve said, chuckling as she took my expression in. "And to answer your question; no, not particularly. But it would be worthwhile. And I could raise Shaun with a good sense of values. You know; hard work and dedication, earning your keep - all that crap. Plus, I could put some distance between him and all the shit you see spattered throughout the main drag; the Raiders, Super mutants and Gunners."

Just the idea of her and her kid being stuck out somewhere in the Wasteland with limited support and a daily gamble for survival made what was left of my skin crawl. How could she have thought for a second that shacking up with some woodsy, two-bit settlement was going to be beneficial to hers and her boys long term survival? I mean, she was a tough cookie and all but plenty of folks tougher than her had met their ends just from the constant, shear bombardment of Raider attacks, Gunners and Super Mutant Raids which plagued farming settlements.

I could see how at a distance the lifestyle might have been… I don't know, peaceful or some shit but I honestly couldn't imagine how you could even scrap together one second of peace let alone enough grub for a decent meal. Even with the Minutemen now pulling their crap together and zig zagging across the Commonwealth at a moment's notice to pull support where needed. Honest to God, I think I would have spent the rest of their natural lives nursing numerous strokes from being freaked the fuck out all the time. And a face like mine really didn't need to be sagging in a couple of spots to make me look even more handsome than I already was.

"You still get all that stuff out in the sticks too, you know." I said, thinking to explain it in fewer, less dramatic words. "And you've got even less protection out there than you would in a larger settlement."

Eve sighed, pushing her head against the back of the diner chair before lowering her eyes to mine, brows raised to form what I took to be a rather sardonic expression. "See now, why do I suspect that you asked that question with a suggestion already in mind, Hancock?"

I chuckled softly, always pleased by her cleverness. Girl was sweet but she didn't much suffer fools gladly, especially those fools who she was most comfortable being herself around. "Am I that transparent?"

"When you have an opinion to express, yeah." She stated, smiling in such a way that I could tell that she really didn't mind my being so plain spoken and took one final drag on the withering nub of her cigarette. She twisted the remaining ember out into the ashtray before puffing the smoke out in a smooth funnel. "Okay, I'll bite. What's your better alternative to scraping Brahmin dung out from under my nails for the foreseeable future?"

Ah, and here was where things got truly tricky. Being a guy that always spoke his mind, I wasn't used to making great strains at censoring my feelings. And right at that moment, my honest to goodness feeling was that I'd sooner drop a Stingwing hatchling down my pants and then smack its mama on the ass with a wet towel before I'd let Eve swan off into the Commonwealth to grow Tato's for a living. It was a little more difficult to factor her kid into the equation; after all, I didn't have kids of my own (that I knew of) and was never likely to.

Not to say that I didn't like children; far from it. I just... didn't want to have kids with any old person. And I had failed to meet that person in my previous life, which meant that as a Ghoul I could no longer have children regardless of whether that right person came along or not.

Which had never truly bothered me until I had started developing feelings for Eve. And I wanted to be supportive of Eve to the fullest and the fact of the matter was that she was already a mom. And her entire rambling journey through the Commonwealth was to rescue her kid and try and reclaim some semblance of a life in a world that was apparently so very different from the one she'd left behind.

I was starting to realize now, after having known her for a year that I would have done just about anything to keep her around; regardless as to what the nature of that relationship was. And if that included tousling some sticky-fingered rug rats hair occasionally, then I would gladly do it, if it meant continuing to enjoy her company and more importantly to know that she was safe. And I could think of no safer place in the entire Commonwealth than under my humble little banner of protection.

"Well, I was thinking that… I could set you and the kid up in Goodneighbor." Catching the scant look of uncertainty flicker across her face, I started speaking quickly, hoping to get all my reasoning in before she rejected the idea offhand. "Look, just hear me out: You know that we're converting those Warehouses we cleared out into partitioned accommodation. I figured I'd set aside maybe the entire top level of the Square side complex for you and the kid to live… the rooms are pretty big and the folks there will all pitch in I'm sure to help you get it set up so that your little fella can have his own space."

Eve pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, looking rather troubled by the offer. "But wouldn't that be taking away a whole floor just for the benefit of two people?" She looked at me, scolding. "I really didn't think that preferential bias was in your character, John."

' _Preferential bias'_ … Jesus, now _those_ were some big words for someone who was slowly passing out on wine and Chark fumes. "Hey, keep in mind I've been sleeping under the same roof as a good slap of the drifters for the past ten years." I stated, sounding more than a tad defensive even to my own ears. I didn't much like when folks made it out like I used my position to wager favors for myself. "Not to mention, we just commenced work on three story accommodations in the West area of Goodneighbor. Proper undercover stuff, with divided rooms and hopefully some decent plumbing and amenities. No one is gonna be missing out and forced to sleep on the street anymore." I folded my brows down into a frown, meaning to make her feel a little bad for being ungracious. "And besides, why shouldn't I try to help you and the kid out? You'd be just as in need of support as any other civilian in town. A kid and his mom need some stability."

She waved her hand at me gently, her eyes widening from their near sheathed state. "Hey darl, you know I love Goodneighbor but I don't know just how safe it would be for a kid to be growing up there. I mean, there are no other kids around to play with, there's a solid criminal element and a prevalent Chem culture. If it was just me mind, I wouldn't bat an eyelid. Let's face it, this bitch can take care of herself. But a little kid like Shaun exposed to that sort of stuff?" She shook her head again, still not convinced, though not entirely rejecting the idea either. "I don't know…"

"Hey, you know that Chems are legal no matter where you go." I reminded her, pushing my fingers up across the taught muscles in the middle of her foot and working on a few lumps and bumps I found there. Yeah, she was definitely about to fall asleep now. "And folks still become junkies and fuck their lives up in little Diners off the beaten track every day in the Commonwealth. That criminal element; I am working to squeeze that out every single fucking day it pokes its head up out of the dirt, you know that."

"Oh, I know darling, I wasn't judging." She said, sitting up now and giving me a very sincere look. Worried, I think, that she had hurt my feelings. Well, I was a big boy and I didn't bruise easily but her opinion _was_ one of the very few things in this world that was sharp enough to pierce through my thick skin and get right on in through the stone around my heart. I had a nasty, niggling little suspicion as well, which I needed to address before I let it simmer further and boil a hole in my gut.

"Or could the plan be to… um …" I paused for a moment, pressing my lips together as an odd, displaced pang of emotion shot through me and I struggled to not let it get the better of me. I'm not even sure how to describe it; fear, perhaps, coupled with resentment. "Go and… live in Diamond City instead? Is that the idea?"

You know how you have those people in your life who you get along with so well that you rarely have a disagreement with? And then it eventually happens and you do finally piss them off and it always feels so fucking painful? _That_ was the moment I experienced right then, when Eve's eyes narrowed at me, her lips pursed intolerantly. She was intuitive when it came to people and she must have known, as I knew she would, that I hadn't really been asking a question. That I had been taking a little jab at her; prepared off the cuff for her to disappoint me. And she hadn't much liked it.

"Excuse _me_ , did I ever for a second float that suggestion by you?" She said sharply, pointing the lip of her still half-filled cup in my direction. "I will _not_ be raising my child in a city that thrives on obliviousness and prejudice anytime soon and I certainly don't need you to get all narky with me for something I wouldn't do with a loaded gun pointed at my head." She sank back against the diner seat with a huff, taking another gulp of her wine. I felt the slightest bit of shame fill the draining void in me that had been puffing up with righteous indignation. I think I had been so afraid that she might have said 'yes' to the idea, that I had built myself up in preparation to deal with the disappointment.

"Sorry," I said, and meant it. "I just… I guess it would make the most sense and you _are_ a practical gal at the end of the day, Munch. They've got a school there, a Church and a whole mess of kids… the wall keeps 'em safe…"

"They've also got McDonough, a guy who doesn't know how to play baseball and a bunch of Ghoul and Synth hating bigots," Eve added, flashing me a little smile which said she wasn't cross anymore. Not that it took her very long to get over shit, especially when it came to her friends. "There are more important things than being safe, Hancock. And living decently is one of them. I could never compromise my morals by holing up in a place like that, not for _anyone's_ sake. I would find an alternative and raise my son away from that kind of crappy thinking. Plus, that off-mint green color they slapped on the wall? Ugh. I couldn't wake up to _that_ every day."

I looked at her, feeling for not the first time since I had met her, such admiration that it made my chest swell and pulled my mouth into an unconscious smile. What a wonderful thing it was, to feel this way for someone; to care for them both as a woman and as a person. How rare, to desire someone as strongly as you respected them. I couldn't control my need now to touch her, any more than I could reign in my bodies need to draw clean air and my fingers reached for her, my heart thudding as she turned her own hand over and pulled mine in against her palm. Her thumb rubbed the hideous scars running down from my knuckles and I found myself unable to meet her eyes; which was ridiculous, because she wasn't so fearsome or beautiful that she could bow a man's fortitude with her gaze alone. Yet still, I felt for a moment powerless and that's a hell of a thing for the guy who had been mayor of the toughest town in the Commonwealth for over a decade.

I knew then that I needed to be honest with her; regardless of how it made me look or whether it made her uncomfortable or whatever. We trusted each other enough for this; hell, this woman and I had watched each other's backs or over a year now and though she was tough enough to give me a run for my money, she was, at her core, predominately gentle. She deserved my honesty, at the very least. And she definitely deserved to know how valued she was and not just by me.

"If you chose …Goodneighbor," I murmured, pausing to swallow in a mouth that suddenly felt a little too tacky and not just on account of the Chark. I had almost fucked up and said, 'If you chose _me_ '. That might have been just a tad too much honesty for tonight. I cleared my throat, continuing to look down at our clenched hands. "I promise that you and your kid, will be the two safest people on the face of the planet. I would mold that town by hand to make it safe for you. It would be only short trip over to Diamond city to go to school and as for kids… I don't know, he could hang out with some of the ones from over there. Who knows? There might be a few more in Goodneighbor before too long."

I heard her chuckle, though I didn't raise my head to confirm whether she was smiling at all. I don't think she felt in any way as anxious about this conversation as I did. "You thinkin' about adding a couple of little Hancock Jr's to the mix are ya?"

I snorted with laughter at this. "Would that I could, Munch. Not sure the world could handle more than one of me, though."

She didn't reply to this and I started wondering if I had offended her in some way. I finally risked glancing up and found her looking at me with a soft, enquiring expression. As though she had an inkling as to what I might have been truly and deeply feeling and was fashioning her expression into something suitable for 'letting one down gently'.

But instead, she said, "Why are you so set on having me hangin' my coat in Goodneighbor anyhow, John? Surely me and a kid are gonna cramp up the 'King of the Zombies' style."

For a fella who had spent so many years of his life taking insane risks and kicking some serious ass, I was astonished by just how much of a coward I could be when faced with the clarity of my own feelings. I still remember how I had felt right at that moment; in spite of my weariness and the Chark and alcohol fogging up my system. A part of me just couldn't give a fuck with carrying on like a coy teenager anymore and so I met her eyes with what I hoped was a very pointed expression, lifting my brows as though questioning her own logic.

"Why do you think?" I asked, letting go of her hand and instead moving it to slide around the back of her head, leaning closer until our foreheads touched together. I waited to see if she would rebel or tense up, and she would very well have been in her rights to have done so. I wouldn't have expected less but she didn't even look surprised. She had her eyes shut, in fact and wore a little smile, I couldn't quite interpret. "I haven't got a person in the world I like more than you, is why. Even if that means putting up with a snotty little crotch goblin wipin' his sticky fingers all over my coat and making me relieved I'm sterile."

We both laughed at this and some of the tension evaporated in my chest, giving me the encouragement I needed to chance something I might not have otherwise had the balls to do. I raised my lips and pressed them between her brows, taking in that flowery scent of her hair again as I did. I had really pushed through the barriers tonight and if Eve was hiding any true disgust for my condition, I doubt she could have bitten it down now. But once again, she just gave me a little smile and reached up to squeeze the side of my wrist. I gave her hair a ruffle, hoping to keep it somewhat cool now as I eased back, taking her foot up again and digging my thumb into her heel.

"Hope you don't mind me getting all soppy there, Munch. But ya fucking asked for it."

She gave a soft little chuckle, her expression thoughtful. I wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or not, but I could swear that her cheeks looked flushed. I only noticed because they were usually covered by concealer and so the rosy color that might otherwise be seen never peeked through. She _was_ feeling crook as a dog though, and weary to boot so it didn't necessarily have to mean that she was embarrassed by what I had just done. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" She took another sip from her wine and then cleared her own throat. "Um, John?"

I braced myself for what I figured was the inevitable 'Hey, you're a really nice guy and all' speech, figuring I'd most likely be kicking my own ass in the morning for taking such stupid little chances tonight and ruining the good thing we had going. "Shoot." I said, sounding much cheerier than a man who was metaphorically strolling out to meet the firing squad. Hoped she was a gal that liked to get it over with in one clean shot. Couldn't stand those folks who liked to drag shit out.

Eve paused for a minute, which I took as a bad sign and her mouth made various attempts to form words before she aborted them mid-attempt and tried to formulate something else. Finally, after a torturous few moments of her twisting her lips about like she had the taste of something foul on them, she said, "Whatever… _choice_ I make… I just want you to know how happy what you just said makes me." She met my eyes now and gave me a smile that made the nasty little knot that had been coiling up in my chest, flex loose so I could breathe again. "For you to offer all that… it's kind of like… there'll be a place for me to call home if I need it. And that's something I _so_ desperately need… because this world… it wasn't anticipating me. So, it hasn't really got a spot to put me just yet."

They were such sad words and I felt a deep pang of sympathy for her, though her expression clearly said that she hadn't been fishing for compassion at all. I might have gotten teary myself if I'd been a softer bastard (and maybe just a few more drinks in) but I kept my cool as much as possible, smiling reassuringly. "You've always got a place to call home, Munch. So long as I'm walking this earth, all you gotta do is come find me. I'll make ya a home outta sand and sticks and we'll sit our asses next to it, have a drink, a smoke and shoot the breeze. And then your kid can kick the house over and trample it into oblivion. And Dogmeat can take a piss on it."

She burst out laughing at this and then quickly shushed herself. Her eyes crinkled in such a way that I could tell she was grateful. "Wow… that was… nearly beautiful, Hancock."

"You betta believe it. I'll even barbeque you a Mirelurk, ya want." I said, giving her a cocky little wink.

"Sounds awesome." She chortled, polishing off her glass and then eyeing off what remained in the bottle before making a 'meh' sound, shrugging and then pouring in a little bit more. Good god, she'd be lucky if she got her ass moving tomorrow; probably have a hangover to end hangovers. She offered me the bottle and despite my better judgement, I took it and chugged back another sip. I felt a little lightheaded, though not entirely from the chems and the alcohol. I felt as though I had survived something; which was not an uncommon feeling in my life but this particular circumstance was one that I had very limited experience in. I was unaccustomed to opening myself up to letting something hurt me. There were a lot of shields I had to drop to let Eve get this close and they all protected vital organs, so to speak. From the vantage point she now enjoyed, the woman was in a position to do me greater harm than just about any other living soul could do.

I lowered the bottle and looked at her, putting the rollie back between my lips and giving it a hard suck to bring the dying ember back to full strength. "I'm serious, you know. You're the closest thing I've got to a best friend in this world. And I… well, I hope you know how much I… how much _you…"_

I stopped myself at this; I couldn't let her get any closer than this, not right now. And I sure as shit didn't need to be using Dutch courage to wrangle my way in either. Not to mention that it wasn't fair on her at all. She was the epitome of vulnerable; dealing still with the loss of a beloved husband and fighting every day to bring back a kidnapped child from an uncertain fate. I'm not sure if she knew what exactly I had been inelegantly stumbling towards either but Eve was for her most part taking me as seriously as I needed her to. She didn't smile at my bumbling attempt at honesty but looked firmly into my own eyes, with great significance.

"You're never normally this ineloquent, Mr. Mayor." She stated and she smiled then, lowering her gaze before then scooting forward so her knees were bent over my lap. She leaned over, so that our cheeks touched and she pressed her lips there, directly into what had to be some of the very worst of my facial scars. "I know what you're getting at. It's... the same for me too, you know?"

She leaned back, giving me a little pet on my opposite cheek as she drifted away. I wondered if she could hear my heart thudding in my chest; I could feel it resonate in my remembered state, even through the passing of two months. Did she mean this the way that it had sounded? Did she really, truly know the depth of my feelings for her and had just confessed that she felt the same way? Or were we just having a really mushy drunk friendship moment; the kind that turned most people on to each other? Was this a sign to make my move and kiss her? Was I supposed to have done that before she moved away? She hadn't lingered very long, so I didn't think she had been waiting for me to respond but maybe she got embarrassed herself and didn't want to make it look obvious. Jesus, why was this romance thing so complicated?! I'd _never_ given shit this much thought when it came to the other women in my life. I guess because I hadn't been concerned with losing them the way that I was with Eve.

"Hey," She added suddenly, giving a dopey little laugh as though to cover up her embarrassment. "I don't wanna act like a wimpy bloody woman either darl but would you mind… um…"

"What do you need?" I asked, trying not to let the images of a thousand imagined favors implode inside my head and get me carried away into a state that was only likely to be left unfulfilled. But then I thought, fuck it, I could make a joke out of it and nothing would be less than expected. "Hey, just because we've had a few drinks and a coupla kisses, doesn't mean you can just try and wriggle your way into my pants. Though, if you insist, keep in mind that I'm open to just about everything except having a finger jammed up my ass."

As expected, she snorted at this and I grinned, secure in the knowledge that what we had together wasn't easily damaged by moments of tenderness or indeed awkwardness that passed between us. I got the impression that no matter what happened, we would always manage to remain friends and even that much was such a boon to my life.

When Eve had finished making raspberries into her hand, she sighed contentedly and tilted her head in my direction, smiling so genuinely that I couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank God for you, John Hancock, or I would have lost my mind in this messed up world a long time ago," She said, pulling her legs back up over my lap before swiveling around onto her butt, so that we were now perched side by side. She sidled closer, reaching out without much hesitation before grabbing my arm and bringing it around her shoulder with the kind of casualness that a guy would have when carrying a drunk friend from the Third Rail. She sank against my side with a contended murmur. "Sorry. I know it's pathetic as shit but I… sure wouldn't mind just being… close right now. Is this okay?"

"Hey, you know what I'm like when it comes to hugging it up." I said, wrapping my arm around her and giving her shoulders a squeeze. "You've been standing pretty tall for over a year now, kiddo. Don't be afraid of ever needing anything."

When you're a Ghoul, you kind of learn not to expect much physical contact, so you tend to lower your expectations in regards to receiving it. Sex is one thing but being held or holding someone was a whole different feeling altogether; comforting and permissible, if that made any sense. You let yourself be seen as weak when you let yourself be held; let them know that you were in need to comfort, that you needed to be taken care of for that one small flash in time. That something was tearing you up inside, that some uncontainable sadness was stealing through your mind that you just couldn't repress, or fight off or take enough Chems to block out.

I hadn't really hugged or been hugged by anyone since I had left my family all those years ago and I had almost entirely convinced myself of the fact that I hadn't missed it. Until I had met Eve. She was a fucking chronic hugger once she got to know someone and she seemed to thrive on that feeling of showing her friends just how much she cared about them. And it was stupid addictive once you got swept up in it.

I hadn't realized just how much I craved it until I had met Eve and we had held one another for that very first time. Even just as bare acquaintances, it was like something pricked its ears up inside of me. Here it was; that little spoonful of sugar in my bitter coffee, that missing piece which Archie had spoken of so articulately. It was that tender craving for human touch, which had opened my eyes to her, which hijacked my brain and ripped me from my self-assured security.

I thought I knew what addiction was and how to keep it at bay, so that it could never control me. But this here, right here, was the one fucking thing I hadn't been counting on. Eve was right; the world hadn't been anticipating her. And neither had I. I had no tolerance for the drug that she kept feeding me; that kept me circling back to the Memory Den, trying to remember how I had lived without those little moments, those sweet touches… that ridiculous, crazy woman who no longer saw herself as desirable and yet who suddenly dominated my horizon.

I sank myself down further into the memory; reaching out with everything I had to try and stretch myself as far into the skin of Past-Hancock as I was able. I focused here and there, wanting to concentrate on every point where our bodies came into contact; her head against my chest, my bicep squeezing around her upper arm, my fingers lightly caressing the bare skin of her elbow. I don't think we had talked after that; in fact, I think we may have fallen asleep, right there under the window. Only for half an hour or so before I had led her off to bed, where she'd collapsed like a felled tree into her blankets, but it had still been an irresponsible thing to have let happen. The Hancock from ten years earlier would have been blown away if he could see me now. (Though I'm sure he wouldn't have sniffed at my taste).

How ironic that this time between us had been so relaxed and so casual and yet now I had rose-tinted glasses on when I thought back to it. Everything had a special kind of emphasis; the perception one is only gifted with when they find themselves to be deprived of something and realize that they fucking miss it.

I pushed myself a little further, drawing deeper on the smell of that clean hair and the smooth little patch of skin on Eve's elbow, when I was jolted suddenly and violently up out of Past-Hancock's brain like a fish yanked from the water on a hook. Everything shook wildly, as though blending my brain might keep the memories from reforming and a mechanical voice issued a stale, patently unwanted advisement from somewhere unseen:

 _ **[Due to high level risk of client Entrenchment, session has been terminated by systems administrator as a safety precaution. We apologize for any inconvenience and thank you for your patronage.]**_

' _Shit,'_ I thought to myself, wishing my internal self possessed eyelids that I could clamp shut. All this shaking and whirling was going to make me hurl my figurative guts up. _'Looks like the gals are stagin' an intervention… and here was me thinking I was hiding it so well…"_

I was sent spinning up and up, everything spiraling in agonizing circles until a bright flash of light ripped through my brain, bringing my collective consciousness back into one piece.

 _ **Goodneighbor – Current Day…**_

It was never quite like coming out a deep sleep, as you were entirely aware from the moment that you left the memory until the very second you opened your eyes. My stomach was flipping in cartwheels and I could feel the slight stinging, almost tickling sensation of the cranial wires sliding out from the base of my skull and retreating back into the Memory Pods headrest. I was also agonizingly aware that a dressing-down was imminent.

I didn't waste any time sitting about reflecting, worried I would only tempt myself to re-visit another memory, if only to escape from what I knew was about to be levelled at me. That was how these things sucked you in and the reason why poor old Kenny-boy had so much difficulty distancing himself from the compulsion. Sometimes I think that the Memory Pods themselves are more addictive than Jet, the way they keep luring you back to them with the promise of fonder feelings at your fingertips. Especially when you consider the fact that working cameras are very rare in the Commonwealth, so we don't really have the luxury of looking over photographs when we miss someone or some time.

I reached over to press the 'Exit' button on the right-hand side of the arm rest and the glass dome of the pod swung up, allowing me to exit the lounger. I rolled my legs over the side and dipped my head down, taking a deep breath as a wave of nausea rose up in my stomach. My temples pounded furiously, unforgiving from my second immediate immersion without a break in between, so I took a moment to try and steady myself before moving again.

"It's not one set of rules for _you_ and another set for everyone else, Mayor Hancock," Came a scolding voice from my immediate left. I groaned in what I hoped was a sympathy inspiring fashion and rubbed my fingers into my temples, trying without much success to ease the throbbing.

"I hear ya, doc. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be tryin' to pull a fast one on ya."

Dr. Amari, one of the two proprietors of the Memory Den and the brains behind the science necessary to run it, did not look the least bit impressed. Her hands were perched in the curves of her waist, her white physicians coat adding to the overall impression of severity she was directing at me, whilst her painted lips pressed so tightly together that I could barely discern what color they were. Her eyes seemed more tired than usual, which made me wonder if her bad mood may have had more to do with her burning the midnight oil than it had my little transgression.

"Now don't scold the poor boy," Irma crooned from over on her fainting couch. I was a little surprised to hear that she didn't sound annoyed in the least but sort of affectionate instead. "Surely there must be a part of you that finds it all just the slightest bit romantic, Amari? _Vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre_ and all that, you know?"

"As usual, I haven't the foggiest where you pluck these senseless little idioms from Irma, but I would remind you not to encourage his foolishness. It won't be so _vivre sans_ romantic if he goes and burns his brain out of his skull," Amari grumbled, kneeling in front of me and then reaching out to yank my left eyelid up without so much as a 'how do you do'. She shone a light into first this eye and then the other, which made me feel as though she were in fact attempting to burn my brain out. "Although if he hadn't done that already with all those disgusting chemicals, I don't suppose he's going to succeed now."

"Come on, doc; staring into my eyes and talking dirty like that… you'll embarrass me," I said, blinking rapidly as she released my eyes, satisfied it seemed that nothing was out of order. Though I did get a cuff around my jaw in reprimand.

"You know better than to make me come into a memory after you, John Hancock. You inter yourself that deeply next time and I may not be able to extract you before you burn out all your neural pathways," She grumbled, climbing to her feet and indicating for me to remain sitting. "Just stay there a moment longer. I might as well take a look at how your leg is coming along. Though why I bother with you, god only knows."

"Well, I'd suggest that my swarthy good looks and gentlemanly charm have set your girlish heart ablaze but I think we both know that's not the case," I teased, raising my brows at her in a meaningful way. She didn't rise to the bait, maintaining a dignified silence as she crossed the memory den and retrieved her kit from beside the center console, where she conducted most of her work.

Now, don't go getting the wrong idea about this exchange; I wasn't alluding to the doc and I entering into some illicit night time foray of carnal pleasures that she would forever regret and hated to be reminded of. So far as I know, Dr. Amari hadn't engaged with _any_ fella in Goodneighbor in this fashion, and it wasn't as though she didn't have her fair share of offers. True, at forty-two she was older than most of the other gals but she wasn't any less attractive for it.

She was one of the few women I knew besides Eve who liked to wear makeup, though not nearly as much as Eve enjoyed pasting on. Amari used a little around her eyes and some rose colored lipstick. With a clear complexion like hers and her natural olive skin, it's not like she needed much. She had thick black hair, which she wore with a sweeping jagged fringe across her face, with the rest pulled into a clip behind her head. It always suggested me that she was run flat off of her feet and didn't want to spare the time to take a brush to it when getting up in the morning. Not to mention that she had some sort of accent, which most of the fellas got all weak kneed about whenever she was trying to have a conversation with them.

She was never very receptive to being flirted with however and it led to a lot of the guys thinking that she was snobby and putting herself up on a pedestal above them. It wasn't until Adrian, who always had an eye for girls with black hair, made a genuine offer for dinner one night that she came clean about what her deal was. She simply had no interest in men. Not in dating them at least.

I guess she felt that she could be honest with Adrian, since he was one of the few genuinely nice fellas in the town and I suppose she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings. He was in fact such a nice guy that he made sure that all the other Watchmen knew, so that they wouldn't hassle her anymore for dates or make unwanted advances. This of course had voided the docs right to privacy in the first place which she wasn't pleased about but the poor boy had only thought to do the right thing and help her avoid any further embarrassment.

Not that anyone gave a flying mole rats ass if you were gay or not; there were a number of folks in town who already were and not many people were big enough shit heads to give them grief about it. Dr. Amari was such a sophisticated person however, that I think she most likely just wanted to keep her personal business personal.

Knowing that she was gay did spare the fellas any further bruising to their ego's; not that they couldn't benefit from being taken down a peg or two occasionally. I mean, it's one thing to have a healthy self-esteem, especially if you were a Ghoul but Jesus fucking Christ some of my boys were keen on themselves. And figured that everybody else should be too.

Dr. Amari returned to my side, carrying her kit in one hand and a folding chair with the other, which she shook to distend before placing it down opposite where I was sitting. She perched herself on it and then indicated for me to place my big dirty boot up onto her lap, which I did. Suppose I might have helped by taking the shoe off myself but I honestly hadn't been thinking about it. She did it for me, peeling it off and plonking it onto the floor before giving my sock a sceptical look.

"Well, _that's_ certainly an interesting color, Mayor Hancock," She stated, snapping on a pair of gloves as she looked first at the sock and then at me with a very dubious expression. Now, I know what you're probably thinking and no, it wasn't that the sock was so old and disgusting it had gone a funky color from lack of being washed. It was just a bright, traffic cone orange, which if left out in a dark night could have lit its own path across the Commonwealth.

"Nice, huh? They were a gift from the D-man," I said, referring of course to Deacon from the Railroad and another of Eve's little freakish entourage. "Well… gift in the sense that I 'borrowed' them one day. And forgot to give 'em back."

"You know, sometimes I think that you are finally starting to settle down Mayor Hancock and then you go and say things like that," Dr. Amari muttered, rolling up my trouser leg to above the knee and snapping about the Velcro on the compression brace I was wearing. She was smiling though, so I knew she wasn't really having a go at me.

I did feel a bit sorry for the poor old girl having to deal with a nasty looking leg like mine but she was as professional as always, not so much as squinting her eyes or wrinkling her nose at the sight of my skin.

It was a fair feat as well, considering that my leg was looking even worse than it usually did. The ankle was still a little bowed and the knee was bulgy in places; not to mention the thick vertical scar that run down my shin, from where the doc had to cut inside to realign the bone that was broken. I had so many pins and staples and pieces of metal holding me together inside now, I reckoned I wasn't too far off being reclassified as the first ever Ghoul-Synth hybrid.

"You're doing a good job keeping it clean," Amari observed, gently holding my ankle suspended so she could move the brace out from underneath it. She guided me into bending my knee forward and back a couple of times, checking my maneuverability I guess.

"Take off the brace and wash it every day, doc." I said, thinking that it wasn't as though I'd had to really alter my routine much to accommodate for my injury. As a Ghoul, you should really be washing every day. Twice, if you had the luxury. "Doing those exercises as well, like ya told me."

"Is it starting to feel stronger?" She asked, pressing her gloved fingernails down against my kneecap and pursing her lips at the feeling of the bone shifting underneath. It still hurt like hell to bend it, but I wasn't about to tell her this.

"Getting there, doc. Don't need the stick anymore and I can even sink my weight into it when I need to." I may have been painting a slightly rosier picture of reality but I had an agenda in mind. "So… whaddya reckon? Can I get my stompin' boots back on and light on outta here soon?"

Now she _did_ look as though she were admonishing me. "Mayor Hancock… whilst I can appreciate that you are eager to get back to your little Wasteland wanderings, as your physician I feel I need to advise you to slow down your expectations some. You suffered a serious and very grievous injury, which might have seen you actually lose this leg if you hadn't received medical attention. Even with Stimpak and radiation treatment, you can't expect to be up and about jumping off of crumpling buildings and wrestling Super mutants after only a month. What, did you think a good nights' rest is all it takes to heal a crippled limb? Goodness me."

It wasn't likely to work, or win me any favors but I creased my eyes up as much as possible and sank my mouth into a sad little line, trying to make my tragic looking mug as unhappy and pathetic as possible. Whilst it might have worked on an old soft-touch like Eve, Dr. Amari wasn't having a bar of it.

"And there's no use looking at me like some poor dog caught out in the rain," She rebuked, though I saw her mouth lift in the corner a little as I gave my bottom lip a wobble, as though I were about to cry. "You need at least a few more weeks off of it and that's all there is to it. If you like, start by taking off the brace and walking unsupported. If you're able to stand that for a while, then you'll know that you're well on your way."

I groaned as I reattached the brace, thinking it was better to just have it around my leg for now, rather than carrying it tucked under my arm. "A couple more weeks? Jesus doc, do you know what you're doing to me? A couple of weeks is all it might take for some sweet talking smooth skin to go muzzle in on Eve. Then, I'm going to have to kill the bastard and _that_ sure as hell won't be winning me any points."

Dr Amari sighed, apparently having no patience for hard earned romance and climbed to her feet, snapping her gloves off as she went. "All I can say to that, is that if it's meant to be, it's meant to be. And, oh," She added as an afterthought, pointing one of her now glove free fingers at me. "Would you please remind Melanie to come check back in with me? We were supposed to have a follow up appointment but she hasn't been back around to make one. I'm a little worried that her wound may have gotten worse."

I wasn't entirely sure what the doc was referring to and I raised my brow at her as I slid my boot back on my foot and eased myself slowly out of the Memory Pod. "Fahrenheit's been injured? That's weird, I saw her before coming over here and she never said a word."

Amari gave an ironic huff as she rolled her gloves into a ball and tossed them into a nearby trashcan. "Well, that's just like her, now isn't it? She came in last week with a deep cut to the back of her upper thigh. Said she was intervening in a bar fight down in the Third Rail when she stumbled and landed on some broken glass. I ran some stitches through it but a cut that deep requires regular ongoing maintenance. You ask her to come back in and see me please, or else I'll be making a trip to the Statehouse myself and pulling her trousers down in front of everyone to take the stitches out."

"And wouldn't she love _that_ ," I said, laughing as I plucked my hat off of one of the chairs nearby and dropped it down over my skull. I did think it was a little odd however that Fahrenheit hadn't mentioned anything to me. True the girl was as tough as BBQ grilled Deathclaw steak and she probably didn't see the need to clue me in over an accidental injury like that, but I couldn't even recall her telling me about having to break up a bar fight in the Third Rail. Far as I could recall, there hadn't been one of those in some months actually. Which hey, called for a new record. "I'll get onto her, doc. You know what she's like; probably rubbed a big handful of salt into it and figured that'd do it."

"You're as bad as each other," Amari grumbled, though she smiled as she said it, grabbing up her doctors' kit and carrying it back over onto the raised platform where she and Irma were set up. I followed her over, reaching into a number of my pockets as I went in order to extract the bags of caps that I had pre-prepared for the transaction. I always put fifty caps in each bag and I now placed five of these on the table by Irma's side.

"Here," I said, giving her a smile. "And a little extra for helping myself."

Irma returned my smile with genuine feeling. For having worked together and being very close in age, she and Dr. Amari couldn't be more different in looks and personality. Where the doc was serious and to the point, Irma was playful and evasive. Where Amari preferred practical clothing and didn't occupy herself too greatly with appearance, Irma dressed flamboyantly, most often draped on her fainting couch in a red corset style dress with big fluffy purple feathers around the collar. She also paid a great deal more attention to her appearance; teasing her blonde hair up into an old-fashioned coil and styling her makeup so expertly that she almost bore the appearance of a pre-war china doll.

Where Amari lacked interest in men (and relationships in general it seemed), Irma thrived in the company of males, never seeming to be short of someone to spend the night with. Strangely enough, I had never been one of them, though you would think that our nether regions might have crossed paths at some point considering how promiscuous we both happened to be in the earlier years. Another small mystery that, though it was preferable that it _hadn't_ happened, given that she was running a business in the town that I was overseeing and all sorts of conflict can come out of the toxic little cocktail that comes from mixing work and pleasure.

When it came to their minds however, both women were very intelligent. Irma was a shrewd businesswoman; aware that the service she provided was in great demand and capitalizing on it appropriately. Not to say that their prices weren't fair; far from it and hey, everyone's gotta make a living somehow, am I right?

"You don't need to worry about shelling out for the second session, sweetheart," Irma murmured, offering me a box of matches as I popped a cigarette out of the pack in my pocket and placed it between my lips. I was dying for a smoke and I knew Irma didn't mind if I lit up where I was standing, as she spent a great deal of her day smoking from her little sofa. "Just pay us for the first and we'll say nothing more."

I struck one of the matches and lit the tip of the cigarette, grunting at Irma with a little annoyance. It always pissed me off when people tried to give me discounts or refuse caps from me on account of the fact that I was the Mayor. I mean, I could understand when Chuck did it; I was the owner of the Third Rail, so any funds that were refused on his behalf, ultimately just stayed in my pocket, to which they would have returned eventually anyway. But getting freebies and shit just wasn't how I rolled. That was _really_ taking advantage and folks couldn't be affording to make concessions like that.

"Now don't you go palavering to me, Irma. You know better than that." I said, taking a drag on the cigarette before reaching over to tap some ash into the tray by her lounge. It never ceased to amaze me how surreal the feeling was; to have been experiencing a memory where I was drunk, stoned and had satisfied my cigarette cravings, only to wake up and be completely sober and hankering for a smoke.

Irma gave me a patient smile, her red lips poised into a near perfect heart shape. "I think we both know that I would never try a thing like that," She said, in a tone that only made me feel like she was playing to my ego. "You've had a sad little face on you ever since you came back to town, John. Like your heart went and broke along with your hip. And I for one couldn't bear to wring profit from a man pining for a lost love. Do me more good to think that we had helped cheer you up a little, honey."

"As usual Irma, you are as kind as you are beautiful," I said, smiling as I lifted her hand from where it lay draped along the side of the fainting couch and bringing her knuckles flush to my lips, giving her the customary kiss which finalized all our transactions. "But try not to worry so much, huh? Guy as bad and as ugly as me can take care of himself." I gave her a wink as I turned and waved a hand over my shoulder, drawing back another hit of the cigarette as I went. "Have a lovely rest of the day, won't you ladies? Make sure to take some time to check out the festivities in the square, huh?"

I heard Amari groan from behind me, already firmly entrenched back behind her computer screen I. "It'll just be more injuries for me to have to sop up one after another tomorrow night, Hancock. I hardly see the festive side to it."

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Mayor," Irma called after me, her fluting voice breaking into a chuckle at her business partners lack of enthusiasm.

I was closing in on the hall door when I nearly collided headfirst with Kent Connolly, who came careening out of his rented room with a jumble of assorted cords, speakers and other fancy shit that I couldn't even begin to get my head around. Kent was the manager of the towns local radio station, which pretty much blared out consecutive repeats of some old pre-war show called 'The Silver Shroud'. Kent actually manned the booth, produced the content, edited what content there was and occasionally conducted interviews with some of the locals; in so few words, he _was_ the Goodneighbor radio station.

Kent was sort of an unknown quantity within the town; considered by some to be a pitiable figure and by others as a dopey fruitcake, who was only two Immersions away from bringing on premature brain rot and going feral. Given that the guy was one of two pre-war Ghouls in the town, with the only other being Daisy, you had to give him some credit for managing to survive through two centuries of what had to be some pretty crazy and horrifying shit. How he got as far as he did, I don't know, because he was a nervous fella with the demeanor of a big, innocent kid. Kind of like Adrian really but without Adrian's massive girth to give him some leverage where his lack of fighting skills and conviction might have otherwise failed him.

I genuinely liked the guy though; his heart was in the right place, though he may have been a little too idealistic for his own good. Like myself, he couldn't stand victimization and hated the idea of crooks getting away with the bad shit that they pulled. Which led to him dragging Eve into some pretty interesting little expeditions and thus giving me a story to tell at parties for years to come.

Right now however, he had a panicked look on his scarred face; the red veins which surrounded the blue pupils of his eyes standing out more than ever in the awning cavern left behind by his pitched lids. I held out my free hand to slow him down, causing him to fumble some of the cords as he bumbled to a stop.

"Whoa, take it easy there, killer. Rushing around like that, you're gonna break both our good legs," I said, leaning down to pick up the cord from where it had fallen on the ground. I gestured to the load in his arms. "Here. Give me some of that shit before you lose it all over the floor. Come on now."

"Oh, gee… thanks, Hancock," Kent mumbled, gingerly passing over a big black box with a bunch of dials and knobs affixed to it at every which angle. Something to do with sound editing, I guess. "Sorry about that. I'm run flat off of my feet at the moment. All those guys from Grand Lanta have just arrived and they want to take Magnolia through some of their content. And wouldn't you know it, some of their equipment got damaged on the way here, so I'm trying to find substitutes where I can. Starting to think I'll need to be calling in a favor with Travis in Diamond City, but I'm guessing they won't be too happy to see me go strolling in there-"

I held up a hand towards him again, smiling indulgently as I gave his fedora a quick skew on his head. "Hey, you're rambling again, Kenny-boy. Try and relax a little, would ya? It'll all come together."

Kent sighed, pushing the brim of his hat back above his brow; looking all for the world like he had the weight of the Commonwealth sitting on his shoulders. "That ain't the half of it, Hancock. Be easier if it was, you know?" He grumbled as we made our way towards the Memory Dens entrance. "See, Adrian was supposed to be helping Miss Magnolia settle in with the Lanta crew… since he knows them already, right?"

"Right."

"Well, he was also gonna be taking her through some of the songs she'll be singing. It's a different style than she's used to, so I think she was kinda relying on Adrian to guide her through but he just sort of wandered off and left her to it."

I frowned, thinking that this sort of dick move was very unlike Adrian, who was sensitive to other people's feelings and a consummate gentleman to boot. "Jesus… are you kiddin' me? What the hell is he _thinking_ up and leaving Mags in that sort of situation? She doesn't even know those guys."

"It gets worse," Kent stated, stopping just before we pushed the door open, looking about as awkward as a grown man could look. If Ghouls could blush, I imagined that his face would have been Tato red by that point. "She's asking me to step in because I know all the songs from before the War, so I can help her learn the sound. I'm so darned embarrassed, I thought about slipping back into one of the Memory Pods and just avoiding going back out there but…" He pursed his lips together tightly, glancing towards the door in a rictus of internal conflict. "I think Miss Magnolia's really uncomfortable just hanging out with those guys. I mean, they seem friendly enough but they're kinda clicky, you know? I didn't feel like I could just abandon her… so now I'm stuck making a laughing stock of myself in front of the whole town. And they already think I'm a big enough schmooze as it is!"

I took another puff of my cigarette before placing it back between my lips and using my now freed hand to give him a cuff about the upper arm. "Don't go thinkin' like that. What you're doin' for that gal is awesome, and a fella that watches out for a lady like that is definitely not a schmooze in my book. I'll go have a chat with BC and find out what's goin' on and get you off the hook if I can."

Kent sighed, his shoulders sinking down with obvious relief. "Oh, thanks Hancock. I mean, it's not that I mind helping out Miss Magnolia and all but I really don't think she needs to put herself through hearing me try to sing." He chuckled self-mockingly as he pushed the door open letting me walk out ahead of him into the afternoon light of Goodneighbor. As I stepped through, the electrical cord of the box I was carrying trailed along behind like an afterthought, snagging in the doorway so that it wouldn't close completely.

Such a fitting little metaphor for my life these days; my eyes having focused on other things, I was unable to see the snares I had created for myself until they caught and held me from moving forward. The town that I had reclaimed in the name of liberty now felt like a cage in which I nursed my healing leg; waiting for all those little hooks to be slipped from my skin so I could move once again.

~ **_EC ~_**

 **Notes:**

A/N: Bit of a weak note to end it on, sorry guys but it does head into another scene like directly afterwards and I couldn't possibly add any more content to this chapter... I mean, it was starting to turn into its own freakin' novel.

Eve seems to be a very common name for Fallout characters, doesn't it? I chose it back when playing Fallout 3 actually, because I'm a huge fan of the Parasite Eve games. The surname Hallows comes from the name of a river up near where my family has a coastal shanty; the river is actually called Dark Hallows. Pretty badass, huh?

I opened up a lot of questions with this chapter and I can guarantee that they all get answered in the following chapters at some point. The thing with the wires in the Memory Pods though... I don't know, just my own little interpretation of how they might possibly work. Bit Matrix-y really but I was working with what Fallout 4 gave me pretty much, so, um yeah... Science!

 **Chark** : Marijuana doesn't exist in the Fallout world but it absolutely bugs me that they don't seem to have any Chems that they can just chill out to. So, bit of creative license with Chark, which is named pretty much for its main ingredient: Ash blossom. (Charcoal, right? Yeah I know... soooo creative.) It's also composed of a number of other flower based ingredients like mutated fern, etc. I imagine guys in the Fallout universe would just mix it in with tobacco and it makes you relax a whole bunch, whilst giving you maybe a little of the giggling that marijuana would, though not as severe.

Thanks for reading guys and for being so patient whilst I went to town with the editing of this chapter. Things will start moving on a bit more in the next update... I hope. I have that little sentence description in my head again, which probably means that it's going to be about a hundred pages about Hancock having a smoke and talking to a dirty mattress or some shite.

Take care my darlings and until next time, with all my love,

~MadamMortis~ xxx ooo


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